


Book 1 - Playlist

by GailDunn2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GailDunn2/pseuds/GailDunn2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS IS THE FIRST BOOK IN AN ONGOING SERIES.  Sam and Dean Winchester find the sister of a Hunter on a dark and lonely highway.  Can the Winchesters and Castiel save her brother in time?  What are Crowley's plans for Gail?  Will everyone survive this first battle of Good vs. Evil?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Headlight

Dean was behind the wheel, and he was exhausted. He and Sam had been driving for what felt like days. Just driving aimlessly. No place to go, no case to work. Dean was staring at the highway, hypnotized by the lines and the single headlight casting its poor illumination on the dark road ahead.

Damn it, why the hell didn't I replace that light? Dean thought to himself. It wasn't like he hadn't had the time; he and Sam had done nothing but eat, sleep and drive for the last two weeks, without a whiff of any action.

Dean's eyelids started to droop even as his annoyance grew. The Mark of Cain burned on his forearm as it always did now, as if to remind him that such petty matters as boredom and burned-out headlights were unimportant. When you had Satan's tramp stamp etched permanently on your skin you tended not to give a rat's ass about much else.

He glanced furtively at Sam in the passenger seat, as he almost always did when brooding about the Mark. Poor innocent Sammy, snoozing with his head on his chest and his hair hanging in his face. Dean smiled at the sight, but his smile became more of a smirk as the Mark took hold. Dean loved his little brother, he would [and had] lay down his life for him, but Sam had no clue how Dean was feeling most of the time. No idea how Dean's blood ran hot and his vision turned red these days at the slightest provocation, until he could just...

Dean shook his head slightly as if to chase away the thought, but it wouldn't go. As he regarded his brother sleeping like a lamb, Dean admitted to himself what he could not ever say aloud to Sam: That he was just about one piss-off away from becoming a raging homicidal maniac, taking out anyone and everyone who was unlucky enough to be in his vicinity at the time. Every now and then Dean caught Sam looking at him with a strange expression on his puppy-dog face; hope mixed with apprehension with a side order of...Oh hell, who knew what? The better part of Dean wanted to reach out to Sam at these moments and open up about how he was feeling and what he had become. Problem was, the Mark of Cain was growing stronger every day, and its influence was morphing any feelings of warmth and love Dean had for his brother into an intense ball of rage in the pit of his stomach. Dean had never been a touchy-feely, Kum-ba-yah kind of guy anyway, so it was all too easy for him to turn away from Sam and make a crude joke or check his laptop and pretend that everything was normal. But Dean knew that if they couldn't come up with a way to eradicate the Mark for good, the day of reckoning was on the way, and soon.

Dean drove on into the night, his eyelids growing heavier with every mile.

Sam slumped in the passenger seat, head nodding into a light doze. He too had been hypnotized by the monotony of the drive and by the single headlight shining on the road ahead. He was worried, more worried than Dean knew. They weren't always the chattiest of brothers, but Dean hadn't said anything for miles, the radio was turned off, and the silence was starting to feel unnatural. After a couple of sidelong glances at Dean to make sure he was still awake behind the wheel, Sam could only conclude that Dean had nothing to say. Of the two brothers, Sam had always been the more easygoing, so he decided once again to just let it go and let Dean drive. Dean loved to drive.

But that one headlight, that bothered Sam the most. There was a time not too long ago that Dean would spend many hours tending to the care and feeding of the Impala, which he called "Baby". Sam would just smile and shake his head indulgently, watching Dean practically make love to the car, and think That's my brother. Not too long-ago Dean would have replaced the burned-out headlight at the first sign of a flicker and then spent half an hour more polishing it to perfection.

But things had changed. Ever since the Mark, Dean was growing increasingly silent and withdrawn and didn't seem to give a damn about much of anything. It had always been like pulling teeth to get a conversation out of Dean that ran deeper than the subjects of booze, food or porn, but every once in a while, with a bit of patience Sam was able to mine a nugget of something more real from his brother. But not these days. The Mark was taking its toll on Dean, though he would not admit it. Sam was afraid for his big brother, but he didn't know what to say or what to do. He kept hoping that their research would unearth a way to get rid of or nullify the Mark but so far, nada.

Sam's head dropped further down to his chest and he slept.

Gail was terrified, possibly more scared than she had ever been in her life. Bound hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded, bouncing around in the open bed of what she could only assume was a pickup truck. She could feel the cold night air swirl around her and she wondered where the hell they were going and what would happen to her and Frank when they got there.

Her mind working furiously on any possible escape plan, Gail wriggled her body like a snake, trying to find an edge or anything on which to saw through the ropes that bound her wrists together behind her back. Dammit, if she could only see! Maybe that was what she should be concentrating on, loosening the blindfold. Luckily the Demon that had tied her up to begin with had seemed to be more interested in checking out her body than actually doing his job, she thought. The blindfold behind her head felt like it had a little bit of give, if she could only...

"Ow!" Gail cried out involuntarily as something slammed into her right side.

"Gail!" Her brother Frank's voice, muffled but there, alive. "Are you OK?"

She fought the urge to laugh in spite of the serious predicament they were both in. Overpowered and kidnapped by three Demons, trussed up like cattle and headed Lord knows where to look forward to torture and a painful death, but otherwise, fine.

"Yeah," she reassured her brother, "Just trying to figure out how to get free. Any ideas? It'd be nice if we could see-"

Frank interrupted. "I got my blindfold off."

Great, a start.

"We're in the back of a pickup," Frank continued. "Stupid asses forgot to latch the tailgate, it's hanging open. At the count of 3 I'm gonna roll you over there and off the truck. It'll hurt when you hit the road so brace yourself. But you'll be free and the idiots up front won't even notice you're gone."

OK, a plan, Gail thought, albeit a desperate and painful one. But it had to be better than what their captors would have in store for them.

It was indicative of her panicked state that she hadn't picked up on the implications of what Frank had said: YOU'LL be free. They won't notice YOU'RE gone. This would come back to haunt her on many sleepless nights in the future. But for right now, Gail assumed that since Frank could see, he would guide her off the truck first, then follow. SOP for big brothers, make sure the younger one is taken care of first. No different from any other time they had been in a jam.

"OK, on three..." Frank said. "One-"

He slammed his body into hers and she felt herself roll ass over elbow, gaining air, then THUD! as she dropped onto the road. Ouch! she thought and would have said it out loud if there was any breath left in her lungs. Pain coursed through her body as she lay there on the road, her cheek scraped on the rough asphalt. OK. Try to get up and assess the damage, then give Frank holy hell for going on One.

Gail struggled to get to her feet, first kneeling, then after a breath or two she tried to rock back on her heels to stand. WHAM! She promptly did a face plant when she overbalanced. Crap! Tears sprang to her eyes as her head throbbed, joining the chorus of pain her body was already singing. Great. If those Demons want to kill my brother they're gonna have to take a number, she thought.

Gail could taste the blood coursing down her cheek as she gingerly lifted her face off the road. She squeezed one last tear of pain from her eyes and peered out into the darkness...Wait! She could see! The blindfold had slipped down to her neck.

Not that there was much to see. As she pushed herself up to a kneeling position, Gail looked around the night sky to see only the outlines of trees. She could just make out the 2-lane highway ahead. Gail's eyes widened as she turned her head first one way, then the other, looking for her brother. The good news? She saw no sign of the kidnappers' vehicle and heard no engine. They must have continued on, thankfully unaware of her escape. The bad news: no sign of Frank. Had he jumped further down the road? That must be it. She just couldn't make him out in the darkness.

"Frank?" She attempted to call out to him but with the gag still tied around her mouth, her cry sounded a bit like the mating call of a seal. Still, it was the only sound she could make and in the quiet of the night, she waited for a response. Nothing. She squinted, trying to focus on the road ahead, looking for any sign of movement. Still nothing. Wait, which direction had they been coming from? Maybe I'm looking the wrong way, she thought. She turned her head back and peered intently down the road in the other direction.

"Frank? Frank!" More seal noises, louder this time as fear rose in her chest. Dammit, where was he? Why wasn't he responding?

Then she did hear a sound, faint at first but growing louder - the sound of an engine, and she saw a single headlight shining on the road in the distance.

Thoughts raced through her head, doing battle with each other. Was it the kidnappers, coming back to reclaim her? Was it someone else, someone who could stop to untie her and help her look for Frank? Maybe the idiots had clued in and were doubling back to get her, and that's why Frank wasn't here. Could he still be on the truck? Or had they gone on, and was this a potential saviour, coming from the opposite direction?

Among Gail's greatest natural assets was an ability to reason things out and she now pushed down the rising tide of panic to concentrate. As the vehicle came nearer, she thought: It looks like a car, not a truck. And that single shining headlight - would the kidnappers have risked calling attention to themselves driving at night with a burned-out headlight, two trussed-up victims in the back? Though they hadn't seemed like the sharpest Demons she and Frank had ever encountered, the way they had surprised and overpowered herself and Frank suggested premeditation. Frank was an accomplished and experienced Hunter and had taken down more than three Demons at a time while hardly breaking a sweat. Therefore, would they really have let a small detail like a burned-out headlight expose them to attention?

No, she decided. It's not them. I'm going with that.

As the vehicle drew nearer, Gail was now faced with another and more pressing issue: She was kneeling in the middle of the road! Would they see her in time? They certainly wouldn't be able to hear her, not with the noise of the engine. Should she roll over to the shoulder of the road? If she did, they'd probably pass her by, and she'd be stuck here for God only knew how long. And there was Frank to think about; she had to find him and they had to get away before the Demons realized their screw-up. The King of Hell didn't exactly let his minions off with a light tap on the cheek and a warning.

This last thought cheered her. Gail vowed to conjure up grisly scenarios for their demise at Crowley's hands as soon as she and Frank were rescued. She decided to hold her ground and trust that the driver of the approaching vehicle would see her and stop in time. The car was almost upon her now. Gail closed her eyes, said a quick prayer, and braced for the impact that she hoped would not come.

Dean's eyes were at half-mast, but they snapped open when he saw something in the middle of the road ahead. What the hell? His foot shifted to the brake and he stepped down, hard. With Sam yelling "Look out!" and the Impala's tires screeching, Dean had only a split second to realize the figure was a woman, and her eyes were wide with fear. He hauled on the steering wheel to turn the car but it was too late, he was going to squash her like a bug.

Sam cried out as the tires squealed and the car fishtailed. He threw his arms up, preparing for the impact. What the hell was this woman doing in the middle of the road?

Gail was also screaming, her throat burning with the effort to communicate through the gag. I'm here, please don't run me over! Oh my God, I'm gonna die.

Then, at the last possible moment, a miracle - the car fishtailed to the side and came to a screeching halt.

For a moment, all was silent again except for the sound of the car's engine idling. Then Gail took a deep, hitching breath and as she let it out, the tears began to flow. They stung the wound on her face as she said another silent prayer in thanks for being alive.

She heard the car's engine shut off, though the headlight stayed on. She squinted to get a look at the car's occupants. As they approached Gail and were backlit by the headlight, she could see two men. The passenger was taller than the driver, with a handsome, open face and shoulder-length hair, and his forehead was etched with lines of concern.

"Oh my God, are you OK?" the man asked.

She was still too much in shock to respond and turned to look at the driver. He was also handsome, with an almost brooding, "bad boy" look, and his expression was unreadable. He must be in shock too, she realized. Guy was a hell of a driver, though. She must remember to compliment him, once she could speak again.

Sam bent down to help the woman and suddenly realized that she was gagged and bound at the hands and feet. He could only imagine how she must have felt, incapacitated and alone and with a car bearing down on her. Thank God she was OK.

"Here, let me help you-" he began, but Dean took charge.

"Get something to cut those ropes, Sammy," he instructed his brother in a gruff voice. Sam obeyed, heading back to the car. He knew how shaken Dean must be and was content to give him a moment to regroup.

Dean knelt down behind the woman and untied the gag from the back of her head. He couldn't speak. He wanted to say something to this poor helpless woman, but what? "I'm sorry" would be lame. "What the hell were you doing in the middle of the damn road?", too harsh. Look at her, she was trussed up like a calf at a rodeo. There was obviously something fishy going on here.

He untied the gag, then stood up and moved around to have a look at her. She was dark-haired with big brown eyes and might be kind of cute without that huge bloody scrape on her face.

Gail coughed a couple of times and moved her mouth around, relishing the feeling of being gag-free again. She looked up at Dean.

"Thanks," she said huskily, clearing her throat. "Nice driving," she added with a weak smile.

Dean smiled back and, in that instant, his face was transformed. He's not just handsome, Gail thought, he's gorgeous. She knew zero about this guy, not even his name, but she could practically hear the sound of panties dropping when he flashed that smile. He seems OK...but why do I look at him and feel uneasy? she wondered. It appeared that these men were going to be the saviours she had prayed for, but if she could just touch each of them once, she could be sure...

Sam came back from the car with a knife in one hand and a balled-up piece of cloth in the other.

As the tall one leaned down to her with the knife in his hand, Gail felt a momentary flash of fear. Did she just escape capture by Demons only to meet up with maniacs? What was this man doing with a knife and a rag?

Sam saw the terror in the girl's eyes as he leaned toward her with the knife in his hand and immediately he understood. He put the knife down on the asphalt and instead put his hand gently on her shoulder.

"It's going to be OK," he reassured her in a soft voice, gesturing to Dean and to himself with the hand holding the piece of cloth. "We're OK. We're going to help you, not hurt you. I just brought the knife to cut those ropes, and this old T-shirt for the blood on your face." He paused and looked into her eyes. "OK?"

But the instant he had touched her shoulder, Gail knew it was okay. Her special ability to read people and their intentions had kicked in at the moment of contact and told her all she needed to know. He was Sam Winchester, and the driver was Dean Winchester. They were brothers and - it was more than she could have hoped - they were Hunters, just like Frank! Her heart leaped in her chest as she realized these were the good guys and she was in safe hands.

"OK," she answered Sam, smiling.

Sam moved behind the woman and began sawing through the ropes that bound her wrists. Meanwhile, Dean was looking at her. "There must be a hell of a story here," he said.

Her expression turned serious. "'Hell' being the operative word," she said. "Guys, I need your help."


	2. Help!

Gail stretched her arms and rubbed her wrists after Sam released her from the ropes. "Thanks, " she sighed gratefully.

Sam said nothing, applying himself to the ropes that bound her ankles together. Once he had cut through those, he gripped Gail by her upper arms and helped her to a standing position.

She swayed a little, trying to get her legs back, and he caught her in his arms. She felt the warmth of Sam's personality flow through her and it gave her the strength to keep her feet. At times she had grown to hate the psychic ability she had, but at this moment Gail embraced it.

She smiled up at him. "Thanks again, Sam. I guess I don't have my legs back yet."

He smiled back at her. "Understandable." Then: "What happened to you?"

"Dean was right, it's one hell of a story," Gail replied, then bit her lip. Damn! They hadn't introduced themselves!

Sam and Dean both gaped at her. Dean spoke first. "How did you know our names?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing.

Crap. Gail noticed Sam's grip tighten on the knife he still held in his hand, and the expression on Dean's face, and she knew she would have to come clean immediately before this all went south.

She held her newly freed hands up in supplication. "I'm OK, guys, I promise you. It's just...it's a long story, and I don't know where to start."

She took a deep breath, and then it all came spilling out: How she and her brother Frank had grown up alone together, their parents killed by Demons when Frank was 15 years old and she was 10. They had always suspected their father had a secret life; then, when Frank turned 13, their dad had ushered him into the den and told him the truth. Theirs was a family of Hunters, had been for generations. Now that Frank was becoming a young man, it was time to start passing on the tradition. For the next two years, Jim had instructed Frank on monster lore; how to separate fact from fiction [Vampires and Demons were real, Bigfoot and Nessie were not] and trained him in battle every day after school, as Gail stayed in her room, doing homework and reading fantasy novels. Though sworn to secrecy, Frank vowed to share his knowledge with Gail when she got a little older. They had always been fairly close and he didn't think keeping her in the dark was fair. Besides, this new world was exhilarating, and he couldn't share it with any of his friends. What good was being a badass Hunter if you couldn't tell anybody how cool you were?

So things went on like that for a while. Frank continued training every day after school and on the weekends. Their mother Christina never entered the basement during their training sessions, and Jim confided that she didn't have the stomach for killing, though the sessions were being held with her tacit approval. Frank admired his dad's bravery and it was awesome to hear all the stories of Jim's nocturnal adventures ridding the world of evil while his kids slept peacefully, oblivious to their family legacy. Frank had never felt as proud and as much of a man as when his dad clapped him on the shoulder after an intense training session and said, "You're gonna make one hell of a Hunter, son."

A year passed, then another. As Frank blew out the candles on the cake his mother had baked for his 15th birthday, he had only one wish: To go out on a hunt with his father. As soon as they were alone, he was going to ask Jim, beg if necessary, to go out with him on the next case.

The phone in the living room rang as Christina was slicing up the cake, and Jim went to answer it. Gail was digging in to her piece of cake and Frank was staring at his pile of presents when they heard Jim exclaim, "What? What did you just say to me?" Christina looked up, startled. Even though she couldn't see Jim from where she stood, Christina heard the unusual tone of anger in his voice and was suddenly afraid. Though she was all too aware of the fact that her husband was a Hunter and left the house many nights to do what he had to do, Jim was kind and gentle with her and the kids and seldom raised his voice to them. Even though Jim had given her a few rudimentary lessons on how to defend herself over the years, Christina wanted no part of this other part of his life and somehow they had worked it out. He assured her that no harm would ever come to her and the kids and she believed him implicitly. After all these years she still loved him very much, and they both loved Frank and Gail beyond anything else.

But now Jim was shouting, "Screw you, Crowley! Don't you ever threaten my family!" Then, silence. Christina stood still, shocked. Frank and Gail looked up from the table, then at each other, puzzled. They had never heard their father talk like that and it scared them almost as much as it did their mother.

"Then come on over and talk to ME, if you have the sack for it!" they heard Jim shout. Then, a smash.

Did he just throw the phone at the wall? Christina thought incredulously. Then: "Chris!" Jim was yelling from the living room.

"Eat your cake," she said absently to the kids, and Christina hurried out to the living room. Gail and Frank gaped at each other with wide eyes, not daring to speak.

Jim was pacing back and forth and running a hand through his hair until it looked like a mad professor's. He strode over to Christina and grabbed her painfully by the wrist, pulling her close to him. "We need to talk, NOW," he hissed through his teeth.

"Not here, the kids can hear us," she said in a shaky voice. He nodded once and they walked out the front door, shutting it behind them.

"There's no time to explain," Jim started in immediately. "You and the kids have to get out of here."

"What? Why?"

"I don't have time to answer questions!" Jim was frantic. "You need to take them and go! Right now!"

"I'm not leaving you, Jim!" She was crying now.

"You HAVE to!" he shouted in exasperation, fear rising in his throat. "He said he's coming here to kill us all and I have to get ready!"

She couldn't help herself. "Who? Who's coming?"

She wasn't going to let this go until he gave her some kind of an answer, and there was no time to sugar-coat it: "The King of Hell, that's who! His name is Crowley, he's found out where I live, and he's not coming over for a DAMN PIECE OF BIRTHDAY CAKE!" Jim shouted in Christina's face, grabbing her arms and shaking her in his panic and frustration.

So there it was. After all these years, Jim's other life was coming here to bite them in the ass, Christina thought bitterly. But she was a practical woman and knew what had to be done.

She turned on her heel without another word and re-entered the house, hurrying to the kitchen. "Gail, Frank, come on, we're going to the park."

"OK, Mom, just let me finish my cake-" Frank started to say, but fell silent as he saw the look on her face. He spared one longing glance at his presents, then swallowed and meekly said, "Can I get my backpack?"

Christina relented. "I guess that would be all right. Run upstairs and get it, and get a toy for your sister, and hurry!"

Frank bolted upstairs. Instinctively he knew there was something terribly wrong. Who was this Crowley his dad had yelled at on the phone? Were there monsters coming to the house? Shouldn't he stay and fight with his dad?

He ran to his room and grabbed his backpack by one strap, then bolted to Gail's room and got the huge plush teddy bear from the floor beside her bookcase. As Frank ran back to the stairs he was already thinking about how to plead his case to his dad; send the women to the park, and get ready for battle. He was old enough, he had been trained to fight, and he could help.

As Frank came hurtling down the stairs he saw his dad emerge from the basement with the case of special knives he had shown Frank during their training sessions. They were the only weapons he knew of that could kill a Demon, Jim had instructed him, and they were to be handled with care but kept nearby at all times. Frank felt a thrill of excitement. His dad was going to kill a Demon!

"Dad!" Frank exclaimed. Jim looked up. "Let me stay! I can help!"

Jim's eyes were blazing. "No! You're not ready!"

"I AM, Dad, you've been training me-"

"NO!" Jim cut him off. "I don't have time to argue with you, Frank, get your mother and your sister and get the hell out of this house!"

Frank's resolve faltered a bit. His dad was in full Hunter mode now, angry and aggressive, scarier than any Demon Frank could imagine. But Jim was still his dad, and this was their home. So he tried once more, stepping toward his father. "But Dad..."

"You have to protect your sister!" Jim roared. "She's special! If Crowley ever got her-"

He never got the chance to finish the thought. Christina ran into the room, pulling Gail by the hand. "Jim! I just saw two men in the back yard!"

"And they have BLACK EYES!" Gail chimed in. She didn't quite understand what was going on. She'd never seen her parents like this, but she was still a child and what she'd seen had been like something out of one of her fantasy novels. She was scared but a little excited, too. She had just seen two guys dressed all in black, with BLACK EYES, walk straight through their backyard fence without opening the gate!

Jim sprang into action. He grabbed Frank by the arm and wrenched Gail away from Christina. "Go into the basement!" he instructed Frank. "Take your sister and hide in the special spot I showed you and don't come out until I come get you! No matter what! OK?"

Frank nodded and grabbed Gail's hand, taking her down the stairs into the basement. Now she was more scared than anything else. But her brother was with her, and he would make sure nothing bad happened to her.

They huddled together in the special hiding place their father had constructed the day Christina had told him she was pregnant with his son, and waited. They clutched at each other and wept silent tears as the sounds of battle raged above their heads. They heard a bone-chilling scream, then a man laughing, which was somehow scarier. Then, silence. That was the scariest sound of all.

But the children were told to wait for their dad, so they waited...

Gail finished her tale and fell silent. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Goddamn Crowley!" Dean swore.

Sam looked back at Gail and said, more gently, "So Crowley killed your parents?"

"That's just it, we never really found out who did it," she replied, "but that was the name my dad used on the phone that day." She shivered, partly from the memory and partly due to the fact that they had been standing out here in the night air while she told Sam and Dean the story. There was still more to tell, but hopefully they had heard enough to know that she was no threat to them.

"That still doesn't explain how you knew our names," Dean pointed out, though his expression had softened somewhat.

"Does it have something to do with your dad saying you were special?" Sam asked her. His voice was still gentle, but his eyes were sharp as they looked into hers.

This one's smart, she thought. He may live in Dean's shadow much of the time but he shines bright.

"I'll tell you everything, I promise," she said, "but right now the pressing issue is finding Frank. I'm hoping you can help me, but if you don't trust me, I'll thank you for untying me and not running me over and be on my way."

A moment's silence; then the three of them smiled at each other and she knew everything was going to be fine. Sam and Dean were good guys, experienced Hunters, and they would help her get Frank back. Everyone would live happily ever after, no one would die [except for a few filthy Demons who deserved to anyway], and things would go back to normal, she thought. I'm going with that.

Gail shivered again, more violently this time. "Can I tell you the rest in the car? I'm freezing."

Sam rushed forward, taking his jacket off and thrusting it at her. "Here, put this on." She murmured her thanks and put on the jacket, hugging it around her.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances again and walked towards the car. She followed Sam and got in the back of the car on the passenger side, then slid to the middle so she could look at both of them. Now that they were in this together, she had to make sure they understood the urgency of the situation.

"Please, we've got to look for Frank!" she urged. "I don't know if he was able to get off the truck or not. If he did, he's further up the road, tied up like I was. If not-" she didn't want to think about it. "We've got to catch up with that truck!"

"Do you have any idea where they were taking you?" Sam turned back to ask her.

"No, that's the problem!" Gail's mind had turned back to when they were abducted many times during the ride in the truck, thinking about any word, any clue their kidnappers may have inadvertently spilled, but could come up with nothing. "All I can remember is that one of them called the one that was tying me up 'Steve', and Steve asked if they were taking us to 'the house', but they told him to shut up and that was it," she answered Sam.

"Not much to go on," grumbled Dean, but he put the car in drive and they started to move, scanning the road for any sign of Frank as Gail continued to tell her story.

A good number of miles and a great number of words later, they came to an intersection. Dean pulled the car over and shut off the engine, then looked back at Gail. "What now?" He had been moved by her story and could relate to searching for a missing brother all too well, but he was also growing frustrated. Obviously this guy hadn't escaped and now that the road split off in three directions with no clue where to go from here, this girl needed a reality check.

"I don't know," she said quietly. Gail's heart sank as she was forced to accept the facts: Frank was gone, and she had no idea where he had been taken or how to find him.

Sam was silent, still processing Gail's story. It was almost too wild to be believed, which in Winchester-ese meant that every word had to be true. Though his and Dean's parents had also died at the hands of the Hunter legacy, he couldn't imagine how two scared kids had been able to stay quietly hidden in the basement of their own home as Demons were upstairs slaughtering their parents. And then, when they could no longer stand the silence, how the children had crept upstairs, hand in hand, to discover the horrible truth: Blood on the walls, the floor, so much blood...and their parents' bodies, laying on the living room floor like grotesque mannequins dipped in red paint.

Sam shuddered inwardly at the thought, picturing Gail as a little girl clutching her plush teddy bear and looking down at the face of her dead father. Jim's eyes had been wide open and he had a shocked look on his face, Gail had told them, as if he couldn't believe what had happened to him. Gail had sunk to her knees by his body and casting her toy aside, put both hands on Jim's bloody chest. But the blood had already started to dry and she knew that it was too late...She scrambled over to her mother, who was laying on her stomach beside Jim. Gail rolled her over onto her back. Christina's eyes were closed and her body had been heavy and Gail knew without touching her wounds that her mother was also beyond saving.

Sam's brow wrinkled as he imagined all too clearly what life would have been like for Gail and Frank from that moment on. Forced to grow up on the run, with only each other to rely on, passing through town after town, just trying to survive. Never able to form normal relationships with others. Living hand to mouth. Always having to watch their backs. Yes, Sam could definitely relate.

He turned to Gail and said to both her and Dean, "We have to look at this like a case. We need to get home and get on the computer, start working it."

"OK," Dean said, seizing the opportunity to take action. As Gail had been telling her story, Dean naturally related more to Frank and his role as the big brother and Hunter/protector, and he knew if they didn't do something soon the poor bastard was as good as dead. If he wasn't already. Dean did feel sympathy for Gail, imagining how Sam would be pulling out his hair in similar circumstances, but this was no time for emotion. It was time to call on their resources and kick some Demon ass.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm calling Cas," he told Sam.

For the moment Gail was silent, somewhat comforted by the guys' take-charge attitude. She was a little drained emotionally from the telling of her story and the nagging worry that if they didn't find Frank soon, he could be gone to her forever. What would she do then? No, she couldn't think that way, her brain would explode. As much urgency as she felt at the situation, she had to admit that Sam was right. They had to combine whatever skills and talents they had as a team to figure out where Frank could have been taken. Although there was one very important talent Gail possessed that she had yet to mention. She had alluded to it as she'd told her story but couldn't quite bring herself to say the words out loud. It was so fantastic, so unbelievable. If anyone would believe it, it would be these two, she thought, but how did you tell two guys you had just met that you could heal people's wounds just by laying your hands on them? It had of course been too late in her parents' case, but Gail had brought her brother back from death several times over the years using this special talent of hers. She didn't know what was so special about her, why she should be blessed with the ability to both read people and heal their wounds with her touch. What the hell kind of world did she live in anyway, where monsters roamed the earth with impunity, creating the need for Hunters who put their lives on the line every day protecting an unsuspecting public from them? So when she thought about it, she guessed it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she was an anomaly, a tick mark on life's list of checks and balances. Whatever the case, whether there was a Higher Power at work, wasn't for her to know. It was what it was, as they said. And the handful of times Frank had stumbled home from wounds incurred while Hunting, she had been damn grateful for it.

Too bad I can only heal others, Gail thought ruefully as she pressed the T-shirt Sam had given her to her inflamed cheek. The blood had already started to dry but the action seemed to help psychologically, and it gave her something to do.

"Cas," Dean spoke into his phone, "we've got a situation here. We could use your help."

"Sure, Dean, whatever you need," Cas replied. His voice was fainter than usual and he sounded tired. Did Angels get tired? No, they never slept, so why would they be tired? It must be the reception out here, Dean decided, though he couldn't rule anything out when it came to Cas. Castiel was the most unusual Angel Dean had ever met, with a lot of enigmatic qualities.

"We're headed home, can you meet us there?" Dean asked Cas.

"I'll be right over."

Dean disconnected the call and turned to Sam. "Let's go home."


	3. Send Me An Angel

They walked into the place Sam and Dean called home, single file, Gail bringing up the rear. As Dean flipped on the lights and strode forward to drop his keys on the table, Gail gasped and gaped around her. What was this place? She had expected a typical bachelors' apartment, with mismatched furniture and takeout containers strewn about, but this? The place was magnificent! Rows upon rows of books on shelves, a couch and chairs arranged around a fireplace to the right, a long wooden table and chairs straight ahead...the place was a damn library! "Wow," she murmured. Her admiration for the brothers grew. Had this been a different situation she could see herself roaming through the shelves for hours, happily feeding her lifelong love of the printed word. Once this was all over and she and Frank were safely reunited she would have to come back for a visit and plead for the chance.

"Anyone for coffee?" Sam said. Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the other side of the table and opened the cupboards above the coffeemaker. "Hope the cream's still good..."

"I have to see a man about a horse," Dean said. "Let me know when Cas gets here." He abruptly left the room.

Sam interrupted his coffeemaking long enough to glance at Gail. He smirked. "That's Dean's way of saying he's got to - uh, you know-"

Gail couldn't help but laugh. Sam was actually blushing; how cute was that? She held her hand up. "That's OK, I think I get it. Unfortunately."

Sam laughed then, and she felt a wave of affection for him. Dean was hard for her to get a handle on - of course, she hadn't touched him yet - but Sam was a sweetheart of a man. He reminded her of Frank in many ways, killing when he needed to but never losing the compassion in his soul.

Frank! Right. Focus. "So, how do we get started?" she said briskly.

Sam set the coffee to brew and moved to the table, opening his laptop. "Research." He sat down and gestured for her to do the same. "I've got a pretty good database set up. We'll check my list of Demons known to be here on Earth and any possible dens within, say, a 50-mile radius of where we were, then widen our search if we need to." Now that Sam was in his element, his tone took on a brisk efficiency. Gail found herself grateful once again for her good fortune in meeting the Winchesters. With the setup they had here and the years of knowledge they had acquired as Hunters, she had no doubt that they would find and recover Frank.

She slid her chair over next to his. "Do you mind?"

"No, in fact, you can look at the pictures of known Demons and see if you can recognize anyone. You said there were three? Can you describe them?"

As she thought back and prepared a mental picture of the captors, there was the sound of a door opening and Gail turned her face up to see a man descending the stairs.

He was wearing a white shirt, black pants and a tan trenchcoat and he had a handsome face that would have been striking had it not been for his careworn expression. This must be Cas, Gail thought, then: He's here to help us? But he looks like death warmed over! She turned to look at Sam, but he was lost in the computer screen. "Hey, Cas," he waved absently, not lifting his head.

Dean came back into the room then and, seeing Cas, did a double-take. Oh good, it's not just me, Gail thought. Dean's also noticed how badly sick this man looks.

"Hey, Cas, when did you get here?" Dean said, strolling over casually to where the coffee was brewing.

"Just now," Sam answered for Cas, still not lifting his eyes. "Almost got this downloaded, it's a big file."

Gail looked at him, then at the back of Dean's head, then risked a look back at Cas, who had sunk heavily into the chair opposite her and Sam. What was with these guys? Didn't they notice, couldn't they see? Or maybe he looked this weary all the time and they were just so used to it that it didn't faze them. Maybe, but...As she studied Cas's face the alarm bells were going off. The lines etched into his forehead, his pale, almost waxy complexion, and his eyes, pale blue with no light behind them. There was something seriously wrong with this guy, she was sure of it. If she could only invent an excuse to touch him, she would know.

Castiel regarded this girl behind tired eyes. She was looking at him with a speculative expression which made him a little uneasy. Who was she? She was pretty enough, though he generally never thought in those terms. As an Angel of God, he had lived a completely celibate life these hundreds of years, never concerning himself with such matters. True, these past few years on Earth had changed him, imbued him with human feelings and emotions he had never experienced, and there had been times he had felt lonely. But despite Dean's clumsy but somehow endearing attempts to "get him laid", Castiel had resigned himself to a solitary existence on this Earth, trying to help humankind in his way but never really feeling like a human, or entirely an Angel any more, for that matter.

But this woman, staring at him with a shine in her brown eyes as if she knew him and could sense his pain. Cas had grown to fear his time left on Earth was short and even though Angels didn't die of natural causes in the conventional sense, one day soon he would just wink out of existence. His Grace had faded to a dangerously low level and he could not - would not - do what was necessary to replenish it. No, never again. Soon he would have to tell Sam and even Dean what was going on with him and prepare them for his departure. But it would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and that was saying a lot. Castiel had done a lot of hard things, even cruel things, since coming to Earth, things he would regret to the end of his days. He had also done many good things, not the least of which was forming this alliance with the Winchester brothers. Together they had battled evil forces many times, and Castiel held a great deal of affection for Dean and Sam. It was a strange relationship to be sure, but somehow it worked. At times he felt like their father, their brother and their son, all at the same time. How could he say goodbye?

"Hello," he said to Gail, attempting a weak smile. "I'm Castiel."

"I'm Gail," she answered, and stood up from her chair. As Castiel struggled to rise to his feet as he always did when at the table with a woman [behaviour Dean mocked him about to no end but which Castiel had learned from a young age were "manners"], Gail motioned with her hands and said, "No, no, sit, sit. I was going to see if I could beg Dean for a cup of coffee. Can I get either of you guys one?" She looked to Sam and back to Castiel but they both shook their heads.

OK, it was now or never, she thought. Hopefully this'll work and I won't look like too much of an idiot.

As she walked around the table to Castiel's side, Gail deliberately snagged her ankle on the table leg and let herself go flying in his direction. As she had anticipated, he leaped forward out of his chair to catch her fall, and she was in his arms.

In the instant it took for Castiel to set her back on her feet, her worst fears were confirmed. He looked at her face, startled, but his grip on her upper arms held firm, giving her time to get everything. Her head threatened to explode with it all. She had never read someone so open, yet so complex, and her mind reeled as she tried to process what she now knew.

Castiel was an Angel of God, he was the Winchesters' best friend, and he was dying. She had never thought that it was possible for Angels to die, but it was true. He was almost out of Grace, and the only way to replenish it would be for him to kill another Angel and take theirs from them. He had succumbed to this method in the past, believing it to be the right action at the time, but had vowed never to do so again. Murdering another Angel, whether it was in self-defense or not, felt like the ultimate wrong to him now. So he would carry on as long as he could in this weakened state, atoning for his past sins as best he could, until the end.

Time seemed to stop as Gail and Castiel stared into each others' eyes. I need to help him, she thought frantically, his time is shorter than he knows. And despite how he sometimes felt about himself and the things he had done, whatever they were, she had never felt such pure goodness coming from anyone she had read before. Yeah, OK, he was an Angel, but that wasn't it. Gail had learned over the years as the sister of a Hunter that things weren't as black and white as all that. Though Angels came from Heaven [or as Frank had wryly referred to it, "The Place of Good Intention"], they were not all good. Some had taken to the earthly pleasures almost as enthusiastically as any Demon. Others became confused upon inhabiting their human vessels and lost their way. Then there were the hard-line Angels, high above such human frailties as love and hate, here to accomplish a mission only they could comprehend, looking down their noses at the folly of humanity. Castiel had never felt like that, she knew, but he had once been a hard-liner. However, unlike so many of his kind, once he realized the futility of his so-called mission and assimilated into the human culture through his association with the Winchesters, Castiel had changed. Now he was more human than Angel, and even though his Angelic powers remained [but were steadily weakening due to his dwindling Grace], he had learned how to drive and to use a cell phone and had even thrown back a few shots with Dean and Sam on occasion.

Gail saw all of this and more in a matter of seconds. As Castiel released his hold on her the connection was broken, but their eye contact remained and for the first time in her life, Gail tried to send a non-verbal message to him. Hold on Castiel, just hold on a bit longer and I'll do anything I can to help you.

Whether her message was received was not clear, as Dean approached them then, thrusting a cup of coffee at Gail. "Here, take it before you hurt yourself," he said gruffly but not without humour. She dragged her eyes away from Castiel's and gave Dean a smile. "Thanks."

She headed back to sit beside Sam, who was clicking away furiously at the computer. As Dean sat down by Castiel to brief him on the situation, Sam began to show Gail his file photos.

The four of them sat around the table for a while, brainstorming, until Dean stretched back in his chair and yawned. Sam had been stifling yawns behind his hand for the past 10 minutes or so, Gail had noticed, and his eyes had that glazed look. Castiel had fallen silent, avoiding her gaze. He did not yawn but his head drooped and he sighed heavily.

Gail was tired too, but had tried to hang on as long as she could, hoping they could come up with something productive. But she had looked at every photo in Sam's file and not recognized anyone, and none of their ideas had produced any tangible result. Much as she hated to admit it, maybe it was time to pack it in for the night. They'd all be fresher in the morning, with more coherent thoughts. She wasn't giving up on Frank, she told herself, only giving in to reason. If the Demons had wanted to kill Frank they would have done so immediately. But they had taken him alive for some reason, and she could sense that he was still alive now. There was still time.

Sam shut down his laptop and stood, stretching to his full height, and finally letting loose with a yawn. "Come on Gail, I'll show you to a room you can use," he said.

"I think I'll lay down too," Castiel said. Dean looked at him curiously, but merely said, "OK, let's go." He and Sam led the way down a corridor Gail hadn't even noticed was there. How big is this place? she marveled.

Dean gestured to a door on the left. "Cas, you can bunk in there." Castiel gave him a brief nod and entered the room without a word, shutting the door behind him.

They continued down the hall and Dean opened the next door, also on the left. "Goodnight," he said, and abruptly disappeared into his room.

Sam led Gail a bit further down the hall and opened a door on his right. "Here you go." The room was sparsely furnished but the bed in it looked comfortable enough and she was grateful to see it. "Thank you, Sam." She turned back to him. "I appreciate - everything-" She was dangerously close to tears and her voice broke.

He smiled faintly and briefly touched his hand to her cheek. "No problem." He moved to leave, but then turned back. "Oh, and if you have to-"

"-See a man about a horse?" she said, smiling.

Sam chortled at that, and favoured her with a genuine smile. He gestured behind him. "It's right across the hall."

"Good to know. Thanks again, Sam."

"Goodnight, Gail. And don't worry, we'll get your brother back."

Then he left her door and moved on down the corridor, presumably to his own room. She closed the door and sat down on the bed, the tears flowing freely now.

After the long night he'd had and the roller coaster of his emotions, Dean thought it might be a while till he fell asleep, but he drifted off as soon as he undressed and his head hit the pillow. His sleep was uneasy though, filled with images of Demons and blood and knives glinting in the moonlight. Truth be told, these kinds of dreams were now a nightly occurrence since he had acquired the Mark, which burned his skin as he tossed and turned, soaking the bedsheets with sweat. How he missed the old days when he used to dream about Victoria's Secret models and woke up with a smile on his face. Now when he awoke in the morning he frequently had a headache and had to stop himself from barking at Sam and his cheery Good Mornings.

Dean rolled over and punched his pillow, falling into another dream where he had the knife and had Gail's Demons cornered. Unaware that his mouth had formed into an ugly grin, he slept on.

Sam had undressed and gotten under the covers but even though he too was exhausted, sleep had so far eluded him. His thoughts were jumbled, all over the map. He thought about Dean and the Mark, he thought about Cas and why he was looking so worn down. But mostly he thought about Gail and her brother. He felt like he was letting her down. He could just imagine how frantic he would be about Dean under the same circumstances. She was holding up pretty stoically so far, but they had better come up with a new approach in the morning or she was going to lose it; and who could blame her?

His mind went over possible additional sources of information and he drifted, counting books instead of sheep.

Castiel did not undress for bed but did remove his trenchcoat and draped it over a chair, then he removed his shoes and stretched out on the bed. Angels did not have the need for sleep, yet if there was ever a time when he yearned for the ability to sleep, it was now. He closed his eyes anyway and sighed once more. This vessel had served him well over the years but it felt broken now, and he felt exhausted and feverish. Maybe this was what "flu" felt like, he thought, or any other disease he had heard about but could not imagine. He felt empathy for these fragile humans. As if they didn't have enough to contend with in life.

He lay there in the quiet, thoughts drifting, waiting for the morning.

Gail wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. OK. That was enough. While therapeutic for a couple of minutes, she could not afford the luxury of a meltdown right now.

Though she was exhausted, she did not lay down on the bed. Her mind was reeling. Her brother Frank was and had always been the top priority in her life but she mentally transferred his capture to the back burner as the more pressing issue had now become saving Castiel. From what she had read and felt from him earlier, Gail feared he might not even last the night if she did not intervene.

But could she help him? she wondered. As far as she knew, her healing powers only extended to the repair of open and bleeding wounds on the outside of a person's body. But she had only performed this act of healing a dozen times or so, ever since she had accidentally discovered that she had the ability when she was still a child, and only on human beings. Would it work on an Angel? And even if it would, it was probably a moot point anyway. Castiel was ill, not injured, and the damage being done to him was internal. What could she do about that?

While lost in her thoughts Gail had been absentmindedly scratching an itch on her cheek; having forgotten about her own recent road-rash injury, she was surprised to see fresh blood on her hand. Oh, crap, she thought. What an idiot. I'd better clean up before I bleed all over the bed.

She stood up and exited the room, searching for the bathroom door in the darkened hallway. That looked like it, just about straight across from her room as Sam had said. She pushed the door open gingerly with her elbow so as not to get blood on the door handle and was grateful to see that it was indeed the bathroom and that there was a night-light plugged into the socket just above the sink.

Gail looked at her face in the mirror above the sink. Even in the dim glow cast by the night-light she could see that the inflamed skin on her cheek was bleeding and crusted with dirt. I should really try to clean that out so it doesn't get infected, she thought. Once again, the irony of not being able to heal herself was not lost on her.

She grabbed some toilet paper to blot the fresh blood on her cheek while attending to an urgent call of nature, then washed her face with both hands as best she could. Peering closer, deciding that was the best she could do, she was looking around for a towel when a sudden inspiration hit: Was it possible? Was she crazy?

Gail stood stock-still, dripping face be damned, as the implications of what she was considering shocked her. She began to debate with herself: It's totally nuts, but it might work. It couldn't possibly work, it was too far-fetched, too voodoo and even too creepy to consider. But she needed to at least consider it if there was even a faint hope that it could work. But why the hell would it work when there was no precedent for it and little logic to it?

But in Gail's world intuition often trumped logic and she knew that no matter how crazy it seemed, if there was even a sliver of a chance her idea would work, she had to try it.

Her mind made up, she wheeled back to the sink, put the stopper in, and began to fill the sink with water from the taps. When the sink was about halfway full, she shut off the taps, took a deep breath to steel herself, and raked her fingernails down her injured cheek. She winced at the pain. Her face was going to look like the world's ugliest road map in the morning, but she couldn't worry about that now. She leaned forward over the sink and allowed a few drops of the fresh blood from her wound to mix with the water in the sink, then plunged both of her hands into the water and closed her eyes in concentration.

Gail willed all of the mysterious healing powers in her body to channel through her hands and into the water, praying fervently. This is for the Angel Castiel, she prayed. If he is meant to live, please use my ability to heal him.

She opened her eyes and stared down at the water in the sink. It looked about the same to her and her heart sank. She had thought there would be a sign, something to show her that it was working. She closed her eyes and tried again, chasing away all other thoughts and putting everything she had in her prayer. After a minute or two more, she risked another peek at the water and her heart leaped in her chest. It had changed into a beautiful, pure gold colour. Her prayers had been answered!

Wasting no time, Gail snatched the cup from the washstand and dipped it into the sink, filling it with the elixir she had just created. She spared no thought for the insanity of what she had just done and what she was about to do. She had just been handed some sort of miracle and to spend a moment in doubt would negate it.

She left the bathroom and rushed down the hallway to Castiel's room, knocked lightly to announce herself, then entered.

"Castiel, I need you to drink this immediately." He sat up in bed, startled, and looked at Gail as if she'd lost her mind. Which she probably had. But this was no time for finesse; she had to get him to do it before the magic was gone.

She thrust the cup towards him and he took it almost in self-defense. "Please." Nothing. He continued to stare at her quizzically. "Please, Castiel," she was begging now, "this will heal you. I know it will. But you have to drink it all down and it's got to be now."

Castiel looked at this woman he had just met. What was she talking about? Was she unbalanced? He didn't think so, not based on his observations of her earlier, but the subject of her healing powers had not come up. And even if it had, he would not have ever thought she could heal him. Faith was in short supply in Castiel's world as it was now, and it seemed as if the only belief he could muster up lately was that whatever good he had done wasn't good enough.

So he sat there, saying nothing. Looking at Gail, then at the cup, then back at Gail. He saw that she was crying.

"Please, trust me. Please believe in me," Gail pleaded. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she trembled with fear and frustration. If he didn't obey in the next few seconds she was going to have to pour it down his throat.

"I believe in you," she said, in a last-ditch effort to convince him, to make him understand...Then, mercifully, he gave a sort of shrug and drank the liquid down. She was sure that he did it to humour her but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that he'd done it.

She took the cup from him, checked to make sure it was empty, and set it on the nightstand by the bed.

"Thank you," she said to him. "Now get some rest. You'll feel much better in the morning, I promise."

He smiled up at her then, and it was a gentle, wistful smile, the saddest she had ever seen. She could see that he didn't believe her but was trying to be kind.

"I appreciate your...thoughtfulness," he said.

She didn't know whether to laugh or be irritated by his careful tone but she smiled back. "You'll see," she told him. "We'll have a long conversation in the morning. But right now you need to rest, and so do I."

Not giving him a chance to respond, Gail turned and left the room.

Dean bolted up in bed, wide awake. What the hell? He had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep only to have it interrupted by...what? What was going on? The Hunter in him could sense movement out in the hallway, and his wind was up. He threw on his pants and exited his room.

Gail had shut the door to Castiel's room and walked a few steps down the dark hallway, right into Dean. "Oof!" she exclaimed. She hadn't seen him there. As her eyes adjusted to the minimal light, she could tell by the outline of the body she had just bumped into that it was Dean, but she couldn't make out his face or the expression on it.

"Oh, hi, Dean, sorry, I didn't see you there," she said brightly.

"What were you doing in Cas's room?" His voice was edgy, suspicious.

Oh, crap. She had planned to sit everyone down in the morning over coffee and hopefully eggs and spill her guts, come clean about her healing abilities and what she had done tonight [though maybe not the actual recipe for the cure, she thought wryly, I think I'll keep that to myself]. But now...she'd better explain herself. She didn't blame Dean for his caution. He was a Hunter, after all, and she was basically a stranger to him. What she could not have anticipated was the growing influence the Mark of Cain was having on Dean. He and Castiel had a special bond and were fiercely protective of one another and while the Mark had not yet corrupted that relationship, it was currently burning into Dean's skin and telling him that this woman was not to be trusted. What the hell was she doing, sneaking around like this in the dead of night?

Gail gasped as Dean shoved her roughly against the wall. "Answer me!" he growled, his face inches from hers.

She was a little scared now. Though understanding of his suspicion, this seemed a little over proportional. What was up with him? Well, there was only one way to find out...

Gail placed both of her palms on Dean's bare chest and had to stifle a scream as the full force of his anger hit her. Her eyes widened as she realized how deadly serious he was.

"I...I..." she stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence while her head spun. What was this Mark of Cain, and what was it doing to Dean?

He grabbed her by the upper arms and with full contact established, she got the whole picture. How he had obtained the Mark, how it had turned him Demon until Sam brought him back, and how he had been fighting a losing battle against the Mark's influence ever since. She now knew that as good-hearted as Dean Winchester was, there was a very good chance that he would seriously hurt her if she could not come up with a satisfactory answer.

"I wasn't there to hurt him, I was there to cure him. I'm a Healer," she blurted.

He chuffed a derisive laugh. His face was so close to hers she could actually feel the breeze on her forehead. "Really?" he said scornfully. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she retorted, her voice growing sharp. "I can prove it to you."

"Sounds good to me," he said. He grabbed her painfully by the wrist, practically dragging her down the corridor. They passed by her room to the far end of the hall and he led her to the right. As they entered another room, he flipped on the light with his other hand and she could see they were in a kitchen area. There was a table to the side with chairs around it and he slammed her roughly into one of the chairs.

"You're gonna get your chance to prove it, right now." He was practically shouting now, and his eyes were blazing as he stared down at her.

Sam awoke to the sound of Dean shouting, pulled on a T-shirt over his shorts, and rushed out of his room. He realized the yelling was coming from the kitchen and ran around the corner to see Dean standing over Gail, who was seated at the kitchen table.

"What the hell's going on?" Sam called out to them, bewildered.

Dean wheeled on Sam and without preliminary he said, "I need you to go to Cas's room and make sure he's OK. Then come back here."

Apparently, Sam was used to this tone from Dean, as he started back up the hallway towards Cas's room without question.

Dean turned back around to stare at Gail and she said, "He's fine, I promise you. I was going to tell you everything about myself in the morning, but we were all tired tonight and it was so late..." She trailed off.

A moment or two later, Sam came back to the kitchen. "He's fine," he said to Dean, glancing at Gail briefly. What was going on between these two? "He even made a lame Cas joke that I woke him up."

Silent for a moment, Dean appeared to be making up his mind about something. Sam walked around him and sat down at the table. "What's going on?" he said again.

"Gail tells me she's a 'Healer'," Dean told Sam. "I caught her coming out of Cas's room. She said she was there to 'cure' him."

Sam smirked, misunderstanding the sarcasm in Dean's voice. Even though he was a little confused by what Dean was saying, Sam was patient enough to wait for his brother to elaborate.

Dean strode over to the kitchen counter then, withdrew a knife from a drawer and brought it back to the table, slamming it on the table's surface.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean brought his face close to Gail's. She could see the fury in his eyes and glanced at the Mark on his arm. It was red and inflamed, as if about ready to burst out of his skin.

"Giving this bitch a chance to show she's not a liar," Dean snarled, then reached back and snatched the knife off the table.

Sam sprang to his feet but before he could act, Gail snapped. Today she and her brother had been overpowered and kidnapped by Demons, hogtied and thrown in the back of a truck like so much garbage, bound for an unholy destination and an even unholier fate. Then she had suffered a bone-cracking fall off said truck and left half of her face on the highway. Oh, and then had been almost flattened like roadkill, and, oh yes, her brother was still captive out there, God knew where because she sure as hell didn't. Then to find out that Castiel, one of the only beings she had met in a long time worth saving, was dying, she had put everything she had into Healing him. And now, the maraschino cherry on top of the crap sundae that had been her day: One of her would-be saviours was threatening her with a knife. All she'd done was freaking get out of bed this morning!

"Go ahead, stab me if it'll make you feel any better," she said to Dean, raising her voice. "But you'd be wasting your time. If you'd given me the chance to explain, I would've told you that I can only heal other people, not myself." She gestured to her face. "Do you think I'd still look like this if I could?"

Silence. Then Dean took the knife and slashed it across his forearm. "Fine. Go." He laid his arm down on the table as if they were about to arm-wrestle.

Dean still felt angry, though part of him was wondering why. Cas was fine and even though the story Gail was telling sounded far-fetched, it was certainly not the craziest thing he and Sam had ever encountered in their travels. It wouldn't even be the craziest thing they'd seen this month. So why was he so suspicious, so eager to brand her a liar? Maybe it was the cynicism born from many years of being a Hunter, but the real Dean inside knew that he was seriously overreacting when there seemed to be no threat present. It was the Mark, it was always the damn Mark now, screaming to be fed. He fought to calm down as he displayed his bleeding arm to Gail.

Sam stood still, shocked, paralyzed by what was happening. If Dean had attacked Gail with the knife he would have had to jump him, but once Dean had turned the knife on himself Sam couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination. He had read about many legends in his research and while a human being as a Healer wasn't specifically mentioned in any of the lore, that didn't mean it was outside the realm of possibility. He was prepared to believe Gail's story.

Gail stared at Dean's wound. Luckily, it was mostly superficial. She was exhausted, wrung out from emotion and from the energy she had put into Castiel's cure. The additional detail she had not mentioned regarding her healing powers was that she had never been able to perform more than two separate healings of major injuries in a 48-hour period; it was simply too much for her to absorb. If Dean's wound had been any more severe, considering her weakened state, she might not have been able to fully heal it. And based on Dean's current behaviour, that would have been bad news for her.

She laid both hands on his bleeding arm and focused her energies on his wound. A minute later her fingertips glowed bright gold. She moved her hands along his arm to seal the wound and put her hands back in her lap when she was done.

Sam and Dean stared incredulously at Dean's arm. The wound was gone, the skin pristine, with no traces of blood to be seen.

Gail slumped back in the chair, totally spent, and closed her eyes. Dean could stab her now if he wanted to, yell at her some more, she didn't really care which at the moment.

Sam spoke up. "OK, I think we should call it a night," he said. "We can talk about everything in the morning once we've all had some sleep."

Bless his heart. Gail opened her eyes and got to her feet, swaying slightly. Dean put a hand on her arm to steady her and she could feel that his rage had dissipated, much the same way as his wound had. All she could get from him now was exhaustion, and a sense of shame about how he had behaved towards her.

She was too tired to feel anything about that now, though she was glad he wasn't angry any more. But Sam was right, they would have to have a good long conversation tomorrow. About a lot of things.

Dean was staring at the wall, avoiding her eyes and looking ashamed. Sam came forward and took Gail's arm from Dean. "Let's get you some rest," he said kindly, and she leaned on him gratefully as they left the room.

Dean sat at the kitchen table for a while after that, his head in his hands. The Mark had gone to sleep for the moment but Dean didn't know when he would be able to do the same. What in the world had he been thinking? The poor woman had had the day from hell and he had capped it off by behaving like one of the Demons that had abducted her in the first place. That wasn't who he was.

He finally stood and headed off to bed, resolving to have a good, honest talk with Sam in the morning.

Sam lay in bed, his mind going over the scene he had just witnessed. He was also planning on having a good and honest talk with his brother tomorrow. While Sam was more aware than Dean knew about the influence the Mark was having on Dean's psyche, Sam had been shocked by the severity of Dean's actions tonight. Had things really deteriorated this much? Along with the pressing issue of finding and rescuing Gail's brother, Sam resolved to devote any upcoming research to the priority of eradicating that damn Mark for good.

His mind then turned to Gail. Since they had met out on that lonely dark road and especially since he had heard her story, he felt sympathy for her. He could also empathize with her current situation; being the younger sibling worrying about the older one was never easy, as he well knew. It seemed like the older brother was hardwired to look after and protect the other one, never the other way around. And Dean may be screwed up at the moment but at least they were here, together. Gail's brother was out there somewhere and Sam wouldn't give up until he had reunited them.

He had also caught something Dean had missed. When Gail had told them the story about the day her parents were murdered, she had mentioned their dad telling Frank he couldn't let the Demons have Gail because she was special. Was he talking about her healing ability? Were Crowley and his minions aware of this ability? Maybe they had tortured Gail's parents hoping to find out her whereabouts. Of course, Demons loved to torture and kill anyway, so it may have had nothing to do with Gail; just another day at the office, putting a Hunter down. But Crowley had been the King of Hell as long as Sam had known him, and the King did not usually deign to show up for a routine Hunter execution. Could he have been after Gail all along? And if that was the case, what would they do to Frank once they discovered she was gone?

They had to find out where Frank was, and fast.

Gail was dreaming of her brother Frank. There had been some good times on the road, times when the two of them played cards, watched movies and just hung out together, and she was dreaming of those now.

Castiel continued to rest on the bed in the semi-darkness. As the minutes ticked away towards the morning, he was also thinking about Gail, and her peculiar visit to his room earlier. He still did not know why she had insisted that he drink the cup of water, or even why he had drunk it. At the time, he had been feeling so lethargic, so depressed that it hadn't seemed to matter much. But now he did start to think about it, and he thought it was very sweet of her to care about his well-being. As he continued to think of ways they might help Gail find her brother, the miracle was gradually happening. By the time Sam had popped his head in to ask how Castiel was feeling, a strange event was taking place. Castiel had not been joking when he told Sam that Sam had awoken him. For the first and the only time in his existence as an Angel, Castiel had drifted blissfully into a peaceful sleep, as if his earlier wish had been granted. And as he slept, the medicine Gail had prepared with her heart restored his soul and with it, his Grace. His eyes sparkled bright blue now, and he smiled.


	4. Looking For Clues

Gail awoke, feeling somewhat refreshed after her exertions of the night before. There was no clock in the room so she couldn't gauge how early in the day it was. She debated whether or not to get up, but the lure of the bathroom facilities and her eagerness to get going on the search for Frank decided for her. 

She flung off the blanket and looked down at her dirty and torn clothes, wrinkling her nose. I could use a shower too, she thought. Oh well, first things first. She sat up and noticed that there was a plaid men's shirt draped over the chair by the nightstand. Huh? There was a note pinned to the collar: "Help yourself to the shower if you want. Here's something you can put on. Sorry it's not more feminine! I'll be at the computer. Sam." 

She shook her head, smiling. It would be just like him to be so considerate. She held the shirt up against herself. Sam was well over six feet tall and his shirt would be like a dress on her. It would do until they could work something else out. She grabbed the shirt and headed for the shower. 

Sam was at the computer as promised, with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He was surfing the Net idly, trying to come up with an idea, any idea where to start the search for Gail's brother. He had already decided they should return to the place where Gail and Frank had been living, and had been abducted from, to see if there were any clues there. Besides, Gail would need a change of clothes at the very least. 

As if taking her cue, Gail appeared in the doorway wearing Sam's shirt, which came down to her knees. He noticed her hair was wet and the dried blood on her face was gone. He smiled at her. She looked kinda cute in his shirt. "Coffee?" he offered, starting to rise. 

"It's OK, I'll get it," she said, motioning for him to sit back down. She came over to where he was and motioned to his cup. "Refill?" 

"Sure, thanks." 

She reached for his cup and leaned over his shoulder to look at the computer screen. "Whatcha working on?" 

Sam could smell the scent of her freshly shampooed hair as it tickled his cheek. For a moment he could imagine this must be what an actual relationship with a woman could be like, waking up, having coffee, being normal, and he felt wistful. He would never experience that feeling again, and probably neither would she, not with the kind of lives they led. 

Gail poured their coffee and returned to the table. "Thanks for the shirt and the use of the shower, I almost feel human again," she said to him brightly. "So, what's the plan?" 

She put down her cup and was about to sit when Castiel strode into the room. As she looked at him, she was glad to see he looked a thousand times better this morning. His colour was good, his eyes were sky blue, and he moved with the energy of a young man. Which, as he was hundreds or maybe thousands of years old, was really saying something. 

Sam looked up at Cas and did a double-take. "You look like you're feeling a lot better this morning," he said to Cas. 

"Guess I just needed a good night's sleep." Castiel winked at Sam and then regarded Gail, his eyes shining. He moved toward her, and without warning, enveloped her in his arms. 

"Thank you," he murmured. 

She returned the embrace and felt the warmth and power emanating from him, confirming he was cured. 

"Glad I could help." Her voice was muffled with emotion, and from the strength of his embrace. She had never been hugged like this, not even as a child. So warm, so all-encompassing; the feeling of being safe, of being home. Thank God she had saved Castiel in time. 

Dean entered the room then, and the spell was broken. She reluctantly separated from Castiel and all three of them focused on Dean. 

"I'm cured, Dean, " Cas said simply, and walked over to him. Dean clapped a hand on Cas's shoulder in the form of a hug he had when trying to express his feelings. "I'm glad, man," he said to Cas. They shared a moment, then Dean turned and approached Gail. He took both of her hands in both of his. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry," Dean said to her. 

She could tell by the look on his face that he meant it, and feel from the physical contact that he was deeply ashamed of his behaviour the previous night. She could also tell that Dean had a good heart beneath his tough-guy facade. It wasn't his fault that the Mark was leeching into his skin and changing his personality. She wondered if there was any way she could help him out with that; she was sure that Sam would have researched the hell out of it, though. She made a mental note to ask him after the business at hand was concluded. 

Speaking of which... 

"It's OK, I understand," she said to Dean. He lifted an eyebrow as if to say Do you really? but he said nothing. Gail walked over to Sam's side and asked him if he had any new ideas. 

"I think we need to go back to the place where you and Frank were taken," Sam replied. "We need to see if there are any physical clues there. Besides," he continued, looking her briefly up and down, "you'll want a change of clothes and a few personal items, I imagine." 

Inwardly, Gail sighed with relief. At least they had a plan of action. It made sense to her to start at the point of their abduction. Things had happened so fast and furious when she and Frank were taken; there might just be something there. It was probably grasping at straws, but at least it was something to do. And quite honestly, she would be glad of the opportunity to throw some of her clothes and things into a bag and give Sam back his shirt. As for the clothes she had been wearing the night before, as far as she was concerned they could burn them. 

"OK, let's get rolling," Dean said briskly. "We can stop at the diner for breakfast first. I'm starving." 

The four of them arrived at the motel room where Gail and Frank had been staying later that morning. Dean slipped the lock [it was alarmingly easy to do, Gail thought disgustedly] and they entered the room. It was nothing fancy, just your average motel room; two beds, a bathroom, TV and coffeemaker. This was supposed to be just a whistle stop for the siblings. They had been on the road, heading to the anonymity of a big city, when they had decided to stop for the night. That's what had made the abduction all the more surprising. It wasn't as if they had settled in for a while and been reconnoitered. They must have been followed here, Gail thought. Which raised a whole lot more questions, all of them worrisome. If that was the case, when did the Demons pick up their trail? Frank was usually so careful about that. But those guys had come well prepared and loaded for bear. When Frank and Gail had returned from dinner at a local restaurant and parked the car in front of their room, they were blitzed from behind and Frank had been forced to let them all into the room when a knife was held to Gail's throat. Once inside, two massive Demons had subdued Frank despite his struggles and the other more average-sized Demon had hogtied Gail. 

"Are we taking them to the house?" the one who tied up Gail had said to the other two. 

"Shut up, Steve," one of Frank's captors had said. "Remember what the Boss said? No conversation. Just tend to your business." 

"I'm already finished." There was a touch of resentment in Steve's voice. When he had grabbed Gail to subdue her and tie her up, she had discerned that he was constantly bullied by the other two, due to his smaller stature, and he wasn't happy about it. She wondered if she could use that to her advantage later on. She had shuddered as Steve cupped her cheek with his hand. "This one was easy," Steve said. "Not bad-looking, either." 

"Sure, she was easy," the other Demon retorted. "She's not the Hunter." He gestured to Frank, who was on the floor, hogtied and fuming. "But take care with that one," he advised Steve, gesturing back at Gail. "The Boss wants her in one piece. And you don't want to piss him off." 

Steve fell silent at this, his cockiness gone. No, he did not want to piss off the King of Hell. He had heard too many stories about other Demons who thought they had the balls to defy Crowley only to find out how wrong they were. With Crowley you were one-and-done. That was how Crowley had been able to keep his throne for so long, with so many of his minions chomping at the bit to stab him in the back and take his place. Demons were so called for a reason - they were not very nice, and Crowley was the cruelest s.o.b. of them all. 

Frank and Gail had been carted from the room and were dumped in the back of the pickup truck parked innocently next to Frank's car. The two burly Demons went up front, leaving Steve to latch the tailgate. At that moment, though, Steve heard a noise behind him and panicked. Fearing discovery, he hurried to get into the cab of the pickup with the others and forgot to close the tailgate, facilitating Gail's escape. 

Dean and Sam, Castiel and Gail looked around the motel room. There were minimal signs of a struggle as they had been overpowered so quickly, but the brothers began poking around anyway. Gail opened the closet and got out her travel bag, then she went to the dresser and pulled open the drawers to get her clothes. 

Castiel waited patiently, as he always did. He was disgusted by the story of the abduction and a little surprised by the efficiency with which it was carried out. These Demons did not sound like the type to plan an organized kidnap, more like the "muscle". What was Crowley up to? Although Castiel was glad for Gail's sake that Frank had been taken alive, he was puzzled by this fact. And he hadn't liked the implications of the comment made that Crowley wanted Gail in one piece. Why did Crowley want Gail? Had he found out about her special abilities and wanted to use her in some way? Castiel feared that must be the case, otherwise why take them alive? 

While Castiel was coming to his fearful conclusion and debating whether to voice it out loud in Gail's presence, Dean discovered something on the floor by the far bed. He stooped to pick it up and saw that it was a business card. Red River Pub was embossed on the card in red, with an address and a phone number. He flipped it over and saw that the address of this motel was written on the back. 

"Hey, Gail," Dean called out. She was in the bathroom changing into her own clothes and doing a quick check for anything left behind, and she hurried out. "Yeah? Did you find something?" she asked him. 

Dean held up the card. "This yours?" 

She took it from him. "No, I've never seen it before." 

Dean smirked. "I bet you one of those asshats dropped it. Looks like we get to have a couple of beers tonight." 

Gail smiled back, greatly encouraged by the quick lead and the apparent incompetence of her and Frank's captors. "I'm more of a wine girl myself." 

After another, more cursory sweep of the room, they left to return to the bunker and wait for that evening's stakeout at the pub. Dean, Gail and Sam all felt like this was the break they were looking for. Probably the pub was one of the Demons' watering hole; if that was the case, he would inevitably turn up there and lead them straight to the place where Frank was being held. The Mark twitched on Dean's arm as he looked forward to showing a few idiot Demons the consequences of messing with Hunters. 

But Castiel was troubled. He also had little doubt that their stakeout would yield results, but this had been almost too easy. This was starting to feel like a trap. 

Frank lay panting in the centre of the cage, bleeding profusely and trying not to moan. Jesus, these guys played rough. He had sustained wounds in battle before, but this had been a one-sided torture fest. 

The Demons' anger once getting to the den and discovering that Gail had escaped was terrible to behold, and they had been taking it out on each other, but mostly on him. Frank also knew they were afraid. He could pick up bits and pieces of their conversations from the kitchen above his head. The one they called Steve had blurted out the name "Crowley" and Frank's blood boiled. The bastard who had killed his parents! It sounded, from what he could overhear, that these three Demons had kidnapped Frank and Gail on his instructions, and now that they had lost one of their captives, they were debating what to do. They couldn't stall Crowley forever, but they were afraid to tell him how badly they had screwed up and he was expecting a report. 

Their solution was to inflict as much pain to Frank's body as possible, mostly in rage and frustration. For his part, he claimed not to know anything about Gail's disappearance; last he knew, they were bound hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded. How was he supposed to know why she wasn't in the truck once they got to their destination? 

If he hadn't been in such severe pain, Frank would have laughed right in their idiot faces. Gail was free and that was all he cared about. If they were about to suffer dire consequences at the hands of Crowley for allowing her to escape, that would be fan-freaking-tastic. He only hoped he would live long enough to be a fly on the wall for the show. 

And why hadn't they killed him, anyway? Not that he was complaining, but...it was really strange. He had yet to hear of the Demon who would incapacitate a Hunter and then not only allow the Hunter to live but take him for a car ride. Frank had suffered badly at the hands of these guys, it was true, but he had survived. The question was, why? 

The one they called Steve entered the room then and regarded Frank through the bars of his cage as if deciding something. Frank glared back at him defiantly, rising up as best he could against the pain. Damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him suffer. 

After a couple of minutes of silence, Steve spoke. 

"Your luck's running out," he taunted Frank. 

Frank opened his mouth to retort but it was full of blood. He spat in Steve's direction, then said, "Luck? If this is luck, you'd better let me out so I can play the Lotto. If I win big, I'll cut you in. I have the feeling you'll need to buy a plane ticket when your Boss gets here." Frank laughed, faking a bravado he didn't feel. "Or a coffin, or whatever you guys do." 

He'd hit a nerve. Steve was indeed terrified of what would happen to him when Crowley got here. His two cohorts would throw him under the proverbial bus in a heartbeat. Though none of them would escape punishment, since Steve was the one responsible for not securing the tailgate, his would be the most severe. Well, if he was going down, he was taking everyone with him, starting with this smug son of a bitch. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and was about to unlock the cage when a voice from upstairs bellowed, "Steve! What the hell are you doing? Get up here!" 

The look that crossed Steve's face then would have been frightening to most people, but Frank actually had to suppress a grin. This guy was so pathetic he was a misfit even among other Demons. Still, Frank thought, I'd better keep my mouth shut. He didn't think he could withstand many more wounds and survive, without Gail around to heal him. 

Steve put away his knife and with a final glare at Frank, turned and went up the basement stairs, slamming the door behind him. 

Frank slumped to the floor. With nothing to do but bleed and wonder how many hours he had left on this earth, his thoughts went out to Gail. Wherever she was now, he hoped she was safe. Frank hadn't completely given up hope of escape, but he had to face it, his prospects did not look good. Maybe with him gone, Gail could have some semblance of a normal life. 

Back at the bunker, Gail was getting antsy. The hours dragged by as they waited till nightfall, when the four of them would go to the Red River Pub to begin their watch for one of her kidnappers to show up, or for any Demon activity connected with the place. She had a cup of coffee, then another, but the caffeine was only making her more jittery. She tried to peruse some of the books but even the lure of her first love, the printed word, couldn't calm her. She finally announced she was going to her room to try to take a nap in anticipation of a late night ahead. 

Once Gail had left the room, Castiel felt safe to discuss his thoughts about the kidnapping and the possible motive behind it with Sam and Dean. 

"Why would Crowley have them kidnapped?" he asked the brothers. "Why not just kill them both?" He immediately answered his own question. "I think he's really after Gail. He must have found out about her abilities and wants to use her in some way. And he's kept her brother alive to motivate her into doing whatever it is he wants done." 

Both Sam and Dean had to admit that this theory might have some merit. All three men had had their entanglements with Crowley in the past and knew that he never acted without thinking five steps ahead. His was an intelligent and manipulative kind of evil and everything he did or said was designed to benefit him and him alone. Though the brothers had actually hijacked Crowley about a year ago and injected him with human blood, its effect was inconclusive. Once Dean had killed Abbadon, Crowley's main rival for the throne, he'd once again taken up the mantle of the King of Hell as if nothing had ever happened. And more recently, when the Mark of Cain had turned Dean Demon, he and Crowley had actually hung out together, like the unholiest of BFFs. However, after a while, even Crowley had grown tired of their association and had allowed Sam to reclaim Dean. Crowley had even come to Castiel's aid by killing an Angel and injecting Castiel with some much-needed Grace as Castiel lay near death on the side of the road, an act that none of the three had ever found out about. So what kind of game was Crowley playing? Ever since Sam and Castiel had brought Dean back from his Demonic state, the three had entered into a strange kind of detente with Crowley. He was out of sight but not out of mind and they knew he would have to be dealt with eventually. Now, in light of his apparent involvement in the abduction of Gail and her brother, maybe the time had come to finish him, once and for all. 

Crowley was far from finished at the moment, but he was losing his patience. He was awaiting the report that Frank and especially Gail had been captured, and it should have come in by now. Even though he had been around for a few thousand years, Crowley had only been on this earth for a few decades and he had grown increasingly frustrated at the snail's pace with which things moved here. Though he and his minions retained their Demonic powers once taking over their human vessels, in order to accomplish their goals and not call attention to themselves, they sometimes had to work within the limits of human custom. Which meant using telephones, driving vehicles, and opening doors, all of which he found cumbersome and annoying. Which was why he had decided to wait another day for the report. But he was done waiting. 

He flipped open his cell phone and called the number. One of the Demons he had assigned to the task answered. 

"Hello? Is anyone there?" 

Crowley rolled his eyes. It was the one who called himself Steve, the useless dogsbody that the other two had insisted on taking along. He hadn't even mastered the art of answering a phone, Crowley thought. He must be somebody's nephew. 

"It's Crowley," he barked into the phone. The idiot obviously hadn't figured out Call Display either. 

Silence. Another beat or two. Crowley was looking forward to downsizing his staff in gruesome and creative ways once this was all over, and this guy would be the first to go. 

"Well?" he raised his voice. "Have you got them?" 

Steve felt the shock of terror course through his body. What was he going to do? "Sure, Boss," he fawned. Well, it was half true. He thought furiously, trying to come up with a stall tactic, but nothing came. Steve was definitely not the sharpest of Demons. 

Suddenly the phone was torn from his grasp by one of his companions. 

"We've got them at a safe house, but...the truck broke down and it's in the shop. Once it's fixed, we'll bring them to you." Though annoyed, Steve couldn't help but be impressed. This guy knew how to stall. 

But Crowley had waited long enough. "No, I'll come there." 

By the panicked look on his fellow Demon's face, even a moron like Steve knew what was about to happen. He fled the house. 

Back at the bunker, Sam, Castiel and Gail were ready to go to the pub and were waiting for Dean. He told them he wanted to do one last check on the weapons. In reality, he was in the bathroom, washing his face and trying to calm down. All four of them had been talking about the feeling they had that they might be walking into a trap, talking and talking, until Dean had to excuse himself. He had kept it together all day long, but now the Mark had started to burn again and he was itching for the confrontation he was sure lay ahead. He didn't give a damn whether or not it was a trap. There were going to be deaths tonight if they were led to the den and Dean was determined to be responsible for as many of them as possible. He hadn't had any action in weeks. Under normal circumstances his adrenaline would be pumping him up in a positive way, preparing him for battle. But this blood lust felt dangerous, and he'd had to excuse himself because he needed to calm down. Courage was one thing, recklessness was another. 

He dried his face and hands, took a deep breath, and went out to join the others. 

Steve walked the streets for several hours, trying frantically to think of something, anything he could do to save his sorry Demon ass. Finally he came to the inevitable conclusion that he was truly screwed. Crowley was coming, and when he got here he was NOT going to be pleased. Those other guys would put as much of the blame as they could on Steve to try and save their own hides, but this wasn't going to end well for any of them once Crowley discovered they were one captive short. 

All right, if this was going to be his last night on this or any other world, he might as well spend it trying to get falling-down drunk. He smiled thinly. He didn't think Demons were able to get drunk, but if they could, he was going to try. He didn't think he'd need to worry about a hangover. He'd probably be torn to pieces by morning. 

Sam and Dean brought beers for themselves and Cas, and a glass of wine for Gail. They had picked a table that was in view of the door, but far enough away from it that they wouldn't be spotted by anyone coming through the front door. As the only one who had seen her captors, Gail sat facing the door, ready to alert the others. Dean was sitting beside her, with Sam and Castiel sitting opposite but turned slightly so their backs were not completely facing the door. They could all sense that something was going to happen tonight, it was just a question of when. 

So they nursed their drinks and talked, trying to behave normally. They talked about sports, music, and events in the news. Sam and Dean had a spirited debate about the greatest rock band ever, and when Castiel asked Dean if he liked Dead Zeppelin the brothers laughed, while Cas looked puzzled. Gail smiled at all three of them fondly. How she wished this were just a night out with the guys. They could have a few drinks, eat wings, and definitely laugh some more. Maybe she would hustle Dean at pool. Then again, probably not; she was willing to bet that he was very good at the game. But it would be fun just to hang, like normal people leading normal lives did. She glanced across the table at Sam and he tipped his beer bottle at her as if he knew what she was feeling. 

Then she looked at Castiel. He was looking around the room, then at Sam, then at Dean, but not at her. Kind of weird. But then again, from what she had been able to piece together, he was awkward around women in social situations and there were quite a few of them here, herself included. This was probably his standard behaviour in a place like this. 

But it wasn't really, not any more. Since he'd been around the Winchesters so often, Castiel had learned how to hang around in places like this with relative ease and found he could even enjoy a beer or two with the brothers. As pubs went, it wasn't the seediest dive they had ever been to but it was definitely blue-collar, and there were actually fewer women around than might be found in a higher-end place. 

No, that wasn't Castiel's problem. As the minutes passed by, then an hour, his dread grew. He had advised them earlier that this was almost certainly a set-up. He knew that this would not be a deterrent, did not expect it to be, but he was concerned about Gail's presence here. This could go from a stakeout to a life-or-death struggle in a heartbeat, and he was determined to protect her. 

Crowley stood in front of the cage where Frank was being held, staring at him dispassionately. In reality, he was furious, madder than he'd ever been. But he hadn't gotten this far by venting his rage at the first opportunity. He needed to think, to decide what the most logical course of action should be. 

This guy was on his last legs, Crowley realized. There would be no point in torturing him further. He had finally admitted to pushing Gail off the truck when Crowley had so politely asked by having him further slashed and beaten. But beyond that, Frank couldn't tell them anything no matter how much pain was inflicted on him. Crowley shook his head in disgust. While one less Hunter in the world was a good thing, if this guy died Crowley would lose his bargaining chip when they recaptured his sister. Oh well, there was more than one way to skin a cat; and being a Demon himself, he had literal knowledge of this. And there was more than one way to get a human to do your bidding. 

But he was still pissed. It had been a good plan and if it had been properly executed, Crowley would have had Gail and her powers at his beck and call by now. When he gave orders, he expected them to be followed to the letter. And to top it all off, the cheeky bastards had had the temerity, the ultimate nerve, to lie to him when he'd had to call for the report! A part of Crowley, likely the human part he kept hidden, couldn't really blame them. He had not exactly achieved his throne by frolicking with puppies and holding fund-raisers for the blind. He would deal with his minions in his usual ruthless fashion once Gail was recaptured and things were back on track. 

For now, he would wait, though he allowed himself a moment's petulance. "String him up by his heels," Crowley said, gesturing to Frank, as the two remaining Demons rushed to do his bidding. 

As Crowley strode from the room and the two burly Demons entered the cage, Frank stirred but could no longer put up a fight. His cockiness was gone and soon he would be, too. He just wished he'd had the chance to see Gail one last time to tell her he was sorry, that he loved her, and to have a good life. 

Steve entered the pub and headed directly to the bar, ordering a double whiskey. He drank it straight down when it came and immediately ordered another. He was gonna miss booze. He stared down into his drink, feeling both scared and sad at the same time. 

Having pretty much resigned himself to an imminent and gruesome death, Steve did not look around and take stock of his surroundings as he usually would have. If he had, he might have seen Gail sitting at the table across the room, clutching Dean's arm as she recognized him. If he had seen her first, the events of that night and beyond might have gone quite differently. 

"It's him! Steve! At the bar!" Gail's voice shook with excitement as she gripped Dean's arm. 

They all looked over at the man she'd indicated, trying to be discreet, but amazingly, he was staring into his drink and hadn't seen them looking. 

"We need a plan," Sam said quietly. 

"Let's go get the guy," Dean said at the same time. 

Castiel's was the voice of reason. "We've got to get Gail out of here before he sees her and 'the jig is up', as they say." 

Reminding himself to tell Cas later that no one had said that in 70 years or so, Dean grabbed Gail's hand and propelled her to the front door of the pub and outside. Castiel and Sam followed. 

They got into the Impala, which was parked across the street, and debated what to do. They were divided; Sam and Gail thought they should wait for Steve to come out of the pub and follow him. Dean thought they should put a knife to Steve's throat immediately and force him to take them to the den, and Castiel agreed with Dean. 

"If we wait too long, something could go wrong and we could lose him," Cas argued persuasively. 

"Yeah, and what if we follow him when he leaves and he goes somewhere else?" Dean chimed in, picking up the thread of logic. 

Sam had to admit they both had a point and Gail deferred to their expertise. She was this close to getting her brother back and didn't want anything to ruin her chances. 

"Wait here, I'll be right back," Dean said, exiting the car. He walked back across the street and entered the pub. Sam considered going with him for a moment but sat back. Dean could handle it. 

Dean went back to the table where they had been sitting and grabbed his half-full beer bottle, sitting back down as if nothing had happened. He regarded Steve out of the corner of his eye. How to get this guy without calling attention to himself? 

Then, as if in answer to an unspoken request, Steve pushed off his bar stool and walked to the front door of the pub, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Dean smiled. This asshat was about to find out that the surgeon general was right. Smoking did kill. 

He got up and followed Steve outside. Steve was standing off to the side and looking down the street as he lit up a smoke and did not seem to hear Dean behind him or notice the Impala across the street. 

Dean gave Sam a quick motion and spoke to Steve. "Hey buddy, can I bum one of those?" 

Steve wheeled around. Dean smiled at him disarmingly. "Trying to quit, man, but I had a few beers, and..." 

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, and extended the pack to him. Dean took a cigarette out and tried not to look at Sam, who was quietly crossing the street behind Steve. "Got a light?" Dean asked the Demon, keeping his attention so Sam could get into position. 

Steve had just reached into his pocket for his lighter when he felt the cold steel blade at his neck. "Don't move," Sam said into his ear. "Don't yell, don't breathe, don't even blink." 

Dean smiled inwardly. Sam sounded like a badass. He flung away the cigarette; it was a disgusting habit anyway. 

"What you're gonna do now," he said to Steve in an even, almost friendly tone, "is take us to the place you're holding the Hunter." 

Crap. Steve's eyes widened with anger and fear until there was nothing but black. 

"I don't know what you're talking about-" he attempted, but Sam interrupted him, pressing the blade even closer. "Don't. Even. Try." 

Steve didn't see that he had much of a choice, but his mind was working and he was tossing alternatives back and forth like a football. If Crowley was still there, these guys didn't stand a chance. And if they knew about the Hunter, they were on the wrong side. Could he make a peace offering to Crowley by bringing these two back with him? 

That was the apex of his intellectual thought process. Bottom line, Steve only cared about saving his own ass, just like any Demon. If he had been capable of thinking it through Steve might have realized that these guys knew far too much to be ordinary men and maybe bringing them back to the den wasn't the greatest of ideas. But he was desperate to achieve some sort of redemption with the King and had convinced himself that this could be a way. 

Sam and Dean walked Steve over to the car and, looking around to make sure they weren't being seen, tied his hands behind his back. Sam opened the back door and pushed Steve into the car, then got into the front passenger seat as Dean started the car. 

Who the hell were these people? Steve thought, as his eyes had taken on a human appearance again and adjusted to the darkness of the car's interior. He was sitting next to a tallish man wearing a trenchcoat, and sitting in the far driver's side seat was a person that appeared to be a woman. 

"Surprise, asshat," Dean said, and flipped on the interior light. Steve saw Gail's face and gasped. 

Castiel was disgusted to be sitting this close to one of Gail's abductors and though he did not particularly enjoy killing, even the killing of Demons, his hand itched for his blade. But they needed Steve for the moment. 

"Where to?" demanded Dean. Steve began giving him instructions on how to get to the den, quite voluntarily now. He sat back as comfortably as he could. He couldn't believe his luck! He was bringing the girl back! Crowley would have to forgive him now. He might even get a promotion. He smirked. These guys had no idea what they were walking into. 

When told they were a block away from the house, Dean slowed the car down, then coasted in to park at the end of the block. He and Sam exited the car, shutting the doors quietly, and Sam opened the back door where Steve sat while Dean opened the trunk of the car. 

"Cas?" Sam said, gesturing towards where Dean was. 

"I'm coming," he told Sam, "but I'm not leaving him alone with Gail, even for a minute." He patted his coat pocket. "I've got what I need right here. Give me the sign when you and Dean are loaded up and we'll go." 

Loaded up, Steve thought. That didn't sound good. What was this guy they called Dean doing in the trunk? And then it hit him: Dean. Black muscle car. Oh crap, unholy mother-bleeping...He was bringing Dean and Sam Winchester to a Demon safe house! And this guy in the trenchcoat? Of course. He could only be Castiel, an Angel of the Lord and the Winchesters' bum-buddy. Just perfect. Crowley was gonna freak. If there was anything that pissed Crowley off more than Hunters, it was goody-two-shoes Angels, and Castiel was the worst of the best of them all. 

But it was too late. Sam grabbed Steve's arm and yanked him out of the car, bringing him to the back of the car where Dean was. Steve saw the array of weapons in the trunk as Dean began handing them out to the other men and his black Demon heart sank. This was gonna be bad. 

Dean handed Castiel a gun just on general principles and then looked at Gail, who had also gotten out of the car and was now standing beside him. 

"Anything for you?" he said. Despite the seriousness of the situation, her face twitched. He sounded like a sales clerk at Weapons 'R' Us. She must remember to tell that to Frank. 

She considered for a moment but shook her head. Frank had tried to teach her to use various weapons over the years but her heart had never been in it and he had given up. These guys looked fully capable of doing what needed to be done and all she wanted to do was give her brother a big hug when she saw him. 

Now armed to the teeth, they walked to the house and just as they were ascending the porch steps, Steve let out a yell. "Winchesters!" he screamed. Things were so screwed now anyway it no longer mattered; he might as well try to give the house's occupants a heads-up. 

The element of surprise now gone, Dean blew open the front door with a shotgun and they all rushed into the house. Castiel made sure Gail was behind him. As they moved through the rooms, heads swiveling back and forth, he murmured to her, "Stay close." 

She wasn't about to argue. While excited at the prospect of seeing Frank again, she was all too aware of the peril they were in as they advanced through the house. Demons did not generally give up without trying to take everyone in the vicinity down with them. 

They passed through the hallway into a large kitchen area, where the other two Demons that had abducted her and Frank were waiting. They had heard the warning yell and the shotgun blast and were standing their ground, prepared for battle. Imagine the rewards they would get if they were able to take down the Winchesters. 

Dean stared up at the Demons. Holy crap, they were big sons of bitches. And ugly, of course. Knowing his shotgun would be useless on them, Dean looked behind him and handed it to Gail, who took it because she understood. Then Dean, Sam and Castiel simultaneously removed their blades from inside their coats and the fight was on. 

Though they were outnumbered three to two, their enemies fought fiercely, knowing what was at stake. They obtained sadistic pleasure from the physical act of inflicting pain on humans and were even more motivated by the thought of how many of their kind these guys had dispatched over the years. 

Steve, hands still bound behind his back, stood to the side and watched. A coward at heart, he was content to look on as his cohorts kicked the crap out of the "good guys". And besides, his hands were literally tied, what could he do? He glanced over at Gail, who had shrunk back against the wall, looking horrified as her new friends' blood was spilled. Stupid bitch, Steve thought. Once her buddies were dead, Crowley would have her back, and he would be the one who had delivered her. This could work out yet. And if Steve's "buddies" sustained painful injuries during the battle, so much the better, he thought gleefully. 

But where exactly was Crowley, anyway? 

Crowley was downstairs in the basement, staring up the steps leading to the kitchen access door, enjoying the sounds of pain. He really didn't care who the grunts and yells were emanating from. All Demons were sadistic bastards at heart, it was definitely in the job description, and as long as the result went Crowley's way he cared very little about how many dead bodies or how much blood would result on either side. The King didn't clean. 

When the battle began it looked as if Sam, Dean and Castiel were finally going to meet their match. But as Dean was flung across the room for the third or fourth time, he was starting to get seriously pissed. Even though these guys were behemoths, they should have had them by now. There were three of them, and only two on the other side; that little sniveling coward Steve had decided to sit this one out. 

Dean could feel the Mark starting to burn. He usually fought the rage it brought but opened up and let it in now. A moment later he was in full beast mode. With the extra juice, he made an inarticulate, guttural roar and charged back into the fray. A few minutes later, the tide started to turn. With Dean's Demon-like fury allowed free reign, he made short work of the asshat who had thrown him against the wall and then it was three against one. Sam and Castiel had the bastard on his knees and were about to deliver the killing blow. Dean looked around, his blood lust unsatisfied, and saw Steve cowering against the opposite wall. This was the little snothead who had tied Gail up in the first place. Dean sneered. Wussy. Man enough to tie up a woman but no balls to stand up to another man. 

Dean strode over to Steve and slashed the ropes that bound Steve's hands behind his back, freeing him, daring him to fight. But Steve just stood there. As they made eye contact, Steve's mouth dropped open. Dean's eyes were full-on black and boring right through him. Dean Winchester, Supreme Hunter, was a Demon? 

This was the last thought Steve would ever have. Dean's knife slashed through his body then, over and over again, ending his pathetic existence. 

Crowley has been listening all this time at the foot of the stairs. Now as things fell silent, he continued to listen. Who had survived and which side they were on would determine his next course of action. 

"Are you guys all OK?" he heard a man call out from upstairs. Voices murmured back, but that one voice was all Crowley needed to hear. It belonged to Sam Winchester, of all people. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a Why Me? gesture. Where there was a Sam, there would be a Dean, and where there was a Dean, there would likely be a certain Angel not far behind. He made a face. He should have figured as much. Really, hadn't he known all along? After all, he had invited them here, hadn't he? 

While he was not the least bit afraid of these three, Crowley was not in the mood for any witty repartee just now. Three of his minions were obviously dead, the Hunter they were supposed to have kept alive would soon be, and he did not have Gail, which had been the object of this whole FUBAR mission in the first place. Sometimes it just sucked to be him. 

Sam had walked over to Gail when she did not reply and put his hand on her shoulder. She was staring into space, shocked by the carnage she had witnessed. She had on occasion healed Frank's wounds when he got back from a particularly intense battle but she had never seen him at work, never wanted to, and now she knew why. Although Gail was glad to see the Demons dispatched from this Earth, she was sickened by the blood and the violence. She knew her brother Frank to be a kind and gentle soul for the most part, though they'd had their sibling moments from time to time, and she couldn't quite reconcile what she'd seen here with the person she knew Frank to be. She resolved to be kinder to him in the future now that she'd seen first-hand what he had to do. 

"Gail!" Sam raised his voice a bit, snapping her out of her reverie. "Are you OK?" 

Crowley heard, and his face burst into a grin. Thank you, Moose, you splendid boy, he thought. He must be slipping; he should have known they wouldn't leave her alone back in the bunker, not when her brother was here. 

Now that he knew for sure where Gail was and whose company she was in, taking her should be a piece of cake if he planned it right. Smug and self-satisfied once more, Crowley disappeared from the house. 

Moments later, Dean opened the door to the basement. "Hey, guys, he's probably down here," he called out to the others. "In the movies they always keep the victims in the basement." He was on a high from the killings and oblivious of the insensitivity of his words. 

They all trooped down the stairs and were confronted by a horrible sight. There was a large cage on the opposite side of the room and what looked like a human body suspended by the ankles in the centre of the cage. 

"Frank!" Gail screamed, and ran towards the cage. He was beaten and bloody, hanging there like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse. After what she had just witnessed, this was too much. Her nerve broke and she started to weep. 

Frank was beyond surprised. How the hell did she find him? Though he always knew his little sister was smart and resourceful, this was more than he could have expected. He smiled weakly as the full impact of the irony hit him: His sister the Healer, delivered to him, just when it was apparent that it was too late. 

And who were these guys with her? They must be okay, or she wouldn't be with them. Gail had never had any trouble separating the good from the bad, especially given her abilities. He had heard the sounds of battle upstairs and saw the results on their clothes. Obviously they could handle themselves and obviously, they had taken care of his sister. He said a quick prayer of gratitude. 

Frank had also seen that bastard Crowley listening at the foot of the stairs during the battle and had seen him smile before disappearing from the house. Frank didn't like that smile, didn't like it at all. Though Frank could do nothing further for Gail, he needed to warn her and her new protectors that this was far from over. 

He struggled to speak as the blood filled his throat. "Crowley..." 

That hit Gail like a ton of bricks. There was that name again, the most hated name in their family, the first word out of her brother's mouth. She guessed she would have to learn to wield one of those Demon-killing knives after all. 

But first things first. They had to get Frank out of there so she could heal him. She shook the bars of the cage in frustration. 

"We have to get him out of there!" she yelled, turning back to the men. "Now!" 

Dean's blood was boiling again. Crowley. He had been a thorn in their side since they'd had the misfortune of making his acquaintance, but he'd now been promoted to Public Enemy Number One. Look at what he'd done to this poor bastard. 

He approached the cage, looking around for any opening, any vulnerability, but he couldn't see it, couldn't think through the red haze of rage. Dean grabbed the bars of the cage and shook them furiously, as if his anger alone could collapse the steel. 

Sam was appalled. With all he'd seen and everything he'd been through, he had not lost the capacity to be shocked at the depths of evil. He now realized this was all his fault, and Castiel's, and Dean's. They should have killed Crowley years ago. Why hadn't they? They knew what he was and what he was capable of. Instead, they had injected him with human blood in a lame-ass attempt to reform him, instill him with some sort of conscience. What the hell were they thinking? Dean had been right all along; a scumbag was a scumbag, and monsters did not change. 

If Gail's brother died because of them...well, he couldn't let that happen. They had to get him out of that cage. But how? 

Hacksaw! They had a hacksaw in the trunk of the car. Sam wheeled and ran up the basement stairs, his long legs taking several steps at a time. 

Castiel was horrified at the sight of Frank, and his heart broke for Gail. Healing powers or not, one look at her brother and he knew it was too late to bring him back; even Castiel himself could not do it. Guilt also burned inside him, and so did fear, emotions that would have been foreign to him several years ago but were becoming commonplace now. But unlike the Winchesters, he was able to compartmentalize these human feelings as he realized what needed to be done. 

Castiel also ascended the stairs, one step at a time, retracing their path to the kitchen where the Demons' bodies lay. He searched the pockets of the closest one and found the key. 

Sam rushed back downstairs with the hacksaw only to find that Castiel was already opening the cage with the key he had found. Sam mentally smacked himself upside the head. 

Gail was the first to rush inside the cage. "Cut him down!" she pleaded, and Sam dropped the hacksaw and withdrew his knife. He cut the ropes that bound Frank's ankles as Dean caught Frank and lowered him to the floor. 

Gail flung herself at her brother, quickly assessing the physical damage to his body. She had never healed anyone this badly hurt before and she hesitated for a moment, her confidence wavering. 

Frank took the opportunity to take both of her hands in his. 

"I'm glad I got to see you one more time," he said quietly. He cleared his throat, then continued, his voice a bit stronger. "There's so much I want to say to you, but there isn't time." Gail opened her mouth to protest but Frank cut her off. "No. No bullshit. I'm dying, and I need to get this out. Crowley wants you. He knows you can Heal and he wants to use you, get you to join his team." Frank coughed, then continued, "Looks like you're in good hands with these guys, but you need to know...he won't stop until he gets what he wants." 

Gail was sobbing freely now. "Let me help you, then we can talk about that when you're well..." But Frank interrupted again. "You can't help me, kiddo, I'm too far gone." 

No, she wouldn't believe that. She tried to extricate her hands from his so she could put them on his chest, begin the Healing process, but his grip was impossibly firm despite his condition. 

"Look at me, " he demanded, and she looked into his eyes. They were shining with tears. "Promise me," he faltered, but went on, "Promise me you'll try to have a normal life once Crowley's dead. Find a guy, get married..." He coughed again. "I'm sorry, Gail. I love you, kiddo..." 

Then the light went out of Frank's eyes, he hitched a breath, and he was gone. 

No. No way. Screaming, sobbing, shaking him, putting her hands on his bloody chest. You're not dead, I'm healing you, Goddammit, then you'll have to apologize for pulling such a sick joke. She willed the golden glow to commence but nothing came. Just like their parents. Just like their parents! No! No. 

When he could no longer bear it, Castiel entered the cage and wrapped his arms around Gail, wishing he still had wings to completely envelop her. He had to pull and drag her away from Frank's body at first, enduring the kicks and curse words issuing from her as his due. Then, as Sam and Dean picked up Frank's body and carried it from the house, Gail slumped, and fought no more. Castiel helped her up the stairs and they passed through the kitchen, where Gail looked dispassionately down at the bodies of the Demons there. She kicked the nearest one in the face, shook off Castiel's grip, and continued under her own power towards the front door of the house. It wasn't until they'd reached the porch and she saw Dean and Sam putting her brother's dead body into the trunk of the car that she blacked out cold.


	5. Cat Scratch Fever

Hours passed, possibly days. Gail didn't know and she didn't care. What difference did the passage of time make to her now?

She was sitting on her bed in the bunker, as usual. Since the four of them had returned that night, she had retreated into the safety of this room and made it her cocoon. She had barely even seen the others since they got back, emerging only briefly to go to the bathroom or have a drink of water. Sam had taken to leaving food at her door which she picked at out of necessity, but he, Dean and Castiel had mostly left her to her own devices. They all understood the grieving process in their own way and right now she was like an innocent deer in the woods, skittish at any sound, afraid of human interaction.

Gail had had to be there for Frank's burial, though. Sam and Dean had dug a hole behind the bunker and interred Frank themselves, as best they could. A bit of a role reversal; they were used to digging up graves, but they did it with a quiet dignity that would have made Gail cry a few days ago. But she just stood there, dry-eyed, while the process went on and when it was finished, they looked at her expectantly but she had nothing to say. Then she turned her back and went straight to her room, and had been there ever since.

Sam was extremely worried about Gail; Dean, not as much.

"It's not normal, what she's doing," Sam argued. "She needs to scream, cry, yell at us, something. She needs to get her feelings out or they'll eat her alive."

"Sammy, we barely know this girl," Dean retorted. "What are we supposed to do for her? We buried her brother in our backyard, now what? We're responsible for her?"

"Yes, we are," Sam responded quietly. "We both know we're indirectly to blame for Frank's death."

Dean had no comeback for that. Because it was true. If the brothers had killed Crowley years ago, as they should have, none of this would have happened. They wouldn't have been able to prevent Frank and Gail's parents' deaths, that had been too long ago, but they sure as hell could have prevented Frank's. Dean knew firsthand how gut-wrenching it was to lose your brother and so his guilt felt greater than anyone's.

But what to do? Well, there was only one answer for that: Find Crowley and end him, once and for all. No, it wouldn't bring Gail's family back, but sometimes revenge was its own reward. Besides, Crowley was a dangerous little bastard, and he was after Gail. Well, he couldn't have her. Dean wouldn't let that happen, not as long as there was a breath left in his body.

In his eons of existence, Castiel had learned how to be patient and observant. But he had waited about as long as he could. Gail had lost her whole family, and was now behaving as if she were a ghost as well. She had given up on life, and he had to help her. Gail had given him his Grace back; she had been there for him when no one else had been able to help or scarcely seemed to even notice how badly off he'd been. That gave them a special bond, and though he could never atone for the part he had played in having allowed Crowley to live, it seemed that he had a mission now.

While Dean and Sam slept, Castiel tapped softly on Gail's door.

"Yes?"

"Gail, it's Castiel, can I come in?"

She sighed. "I guess so."

He entered the room. She was sitting up in bed staring at the wall as she almost always did now, hugging a pillow like she must have hugged that plush teddy bear when she was a little girl. The one she'd flung away before putting her hands on her father's bleeding chest, as if to symbolize her permanent loss of innocence from that day on.

If Castiel had not been an Angel the heartbreak might have made him lose his mind. But he had long been used to the burden of human sorrow, something that seemed in endless supply here on Earth. Pity the same could not be said for love, compassion. But no matter. He had an abundance of both and all too few opportunities to use them in the Winchester world. Though Castiel did feel a modicum of compassion for most of the creatures he had killed, many of which had once been human beings, it was hard to Love Thy Neighbour while plunging an eight-inch dagger into his body.

But this woman had done nothing, except have the misfortune to have been born into a family with a Hunter legacy; and as if that hadn't been bad enough, had been "blessed" with psychic and healing powers, to boot. Powers she had only ever used for good, but that were such an attraction to evil. Who knew what Crowley had planned for Gail? But whatever it was, he would never be given the opportunity, Castiel could guarantee that.

He walked over to the bed, pulled up the chair that was beside the nightstand, and said, "Mind if I sit?" He sat anyway, taking her hand.

Gail didn't need to read him to know how he felt or what he was going to say. Life is precious, blah blah, your brother would want you to go on, yada, yada. Of course she knew that he would be right, and she would soon have to break out of this funk and do something. Maybe kill Crowley. Maybe kill herself. The way she was feeling now, it could go either way. But she wasn't in the mood for a pep talk right now about Heaven, Higher Powers, or how soft those fluffy white clouds were.

To her surprise, and because she had not bothered to try to read him, the words Castiel spoke were: "I didn't think you were the selfish type. I'm very disappointed in you, Gail."

Her mouth dropped open. He had her attention now, and he dropped her hand as he did not want to be read right now. He had an objective and did not want Gail to get there first.

Gail had half-expected this gambit from Dean, maybe even from Sam, but coming from Castiel, it really stung. She felt hurt and angry, but she also felt a pang of something else. Guilt? Self-awareness?

"How can you say that to me?" she said to Castiel. The steady gaze of his bright blue eyes was making her uncomfortable. Eyes that, by the way, were not so bright recently, or had he already forgotten?

"After what I did for you, how can you accuse me of being selfish?" she continued. "You, of all, um...people?"

Inwardly, he smiled. He had her now; there was still that spark inside of her. He stretched it out a bit more then, coaxing the flame.

"Technically, Angel," he replied, "though it seems like YOU'RE bucking for Sainthood."

OK, she was mad now, but of course that was the point. "What the hell do you want me to do, Castiel? What do you want from me?"

"I think you know the answer to that," he said, his gaze holding steadily on her.

She sighed deeply, then flung the pillow she had been holding against the wall. Castiel took that as a good sign. His point made, without ever having to voice the thought out loud, Castiel stood. Their eye contact held steady and he knew he'd gotten through to her.

Never one to belabour a point, he headed for the door. "Wait." Gail's voice, behind him. He turned back and she crossed the room, flinging herself into his arms. He returned the embrace, smiling, happy to be helping and comforting instead of killing.

After Castiel left her room, Gail did a lot of thinking. She had been getting sick of herself anyway, and would likely have returned to the land of the living in the next day or so. But that damn Angel had cut to the heart of the matter. Without hardly saying anything, he had given her the wake-up call she needed. By poking gently at her most sensitive spot, he had stirred up the very emotions she had needed to feel to come out the other side. No one, not even Frank, had ever known that Gail's greatest fear about herself was that she was indeed selfish. That one day she would just pick up and leave, lead a totally decadent and selfish life. Everyone had a dark side to themselves, or potential to realize the worst parts of their own nature under adverse circumstances. Now that she had lost everything, what was to prevent her from giving in to that side? She was tired of being The Healer. Screw 'em, let them go to the hospital like everyone else. After the battle in the Demon den, once Gail had regained consciousness back at the bunker, she had automatically checked Dean and Sam and laid her hands upon the brothers, patching them up as a matter of routine. Castiel could have done the same for them of course, but she had beaten him to it, feeling it was her duty. Well, who said she had to be Saint Gail, anyway? Then Castiel comes up with that Sainthood remark tonight, she thought. It was like he'd been sitting right next to her, riding the train of thought she'd been on right along with her. Pretty unnerving, especially since she had been contemplating the most selfish thing of all and bailing on them in the middle of the night, going to Vegas or something.

But Castiel's brief visit had snapped her out of this line of thinking, and by the time he'd left, she had given her head a shake. What the hell had she been thinking? That was not who she was. These men had had her back from the moment she met them and had risked their lives to rescue her brother for her. It was not their fault the mission had been unsuccessful. It was not their fault that Frank was dead.

As her heart warmed at the heroism and self-sacrifice of her friends, Gail decided to stick around and see things through at their side. What she did not know, of course, was what her friends had not yet worked up the courage to tell her: that, had they killed Crowley years ago, her brother would still be alive.

Rowena stretched in her bed, savouring the moment. That had been good, the best she'd had in a while. But just as quickly, the glow passed and she looked over at her bedmate with derision. His broad back to her, it looked like he was getting a little too comfortable. He had serviced her well, but if he thought he was staying he had another think coming.

"Time to go, big boy," she said. He stirred and mumbled something incoherent into the pillow. Rowena rolled her eyes. Whatever happened to the good old days, when men couldn't wait to leave after having gotten in your pants? She really needed to go back to the Swinging '60s, before all of the enlightenment crap had set in. Cuddling, sharing your feelings, who the hell needed that? Just give me what I want and get the hell out.

Receiving no further response, Rowena gave him a mighty shove with her hands and feet. With a grunt of surprise, John thudded to the floor. He sprang to his feet, pissed off, automatically reaching for his knife before realizing he was stark naked. But then, looking at Rowena, he woke fully from his semi-doze and stood down. You couldn't stab the mother of the King of Hell and expect to survive.

Rowena looked his muscular body up and down with appreciation for a moment, wishing she had the time for another go-round. But there would be other opportunities. Right now, she had a useless son to motivate.

John knew when to cut his losses; he dressed and left meekly. Rowena also got dressed, passing by the bureau mirror on her way out. Damn, for a woman who was thousands of years old, she looked good.

Rowena strode into Crowley's throne room, the only one who could get away with barging in without being summoned. He gestured for his minions to leave the room, which they were only too glad to do. They didn't know who was worse, the bitch or the pup, and had no desire to eavesdrop. Ignorance could truly be bliss sometimes.

Crowley looked up at his mother. Her eyes were twinkling and her skin was glowing. He knew what she and his right-hand Demon John were up to in her room at night but he did not care. Good for Mummy, he thought. Not so good for John, as Crowley might just have to kill him on general principles once the mission was over. But John was big and strong and could get things done, so for now, Crowley would look the other way.

"What are you going to do, Ferrrgus?" Rowena burred softly in the Scottish accent her vessel had, and which grated on him so much. "What's your plan to get the girl?"

He glared at her. He hated when she called him Fergus, which apparently had been his birth name. Who the hell would respect a Demon King with a name like that? He had grown sick of snapping "It's Crowley!" every time she said it but, to her credit he supposed, once she had had her fun she had stopped using the cursed name in front of his minions and now only called him Fergus when they were alone. He wished she'd stop altogether, but he knew she never would. Rowena liked her little jabs.

Crowley wasn't even sure he should have relented and let her into his world after all this time. The secret human part of him craved love and acceptance and on the surface she seemed to provide that. She professed to be proud of him and what he had accomplished, and said that all she wanted was to help and support him and establish a mother-son bond that had never been there between them. Great, maybe they could go on Dr. Phil together and do a show on Demon dysfunction.

But the bigger part of Crowley knew that she was full of crap. His mother was not a Demon but a witch who had been in existence for thousands of years; while others came and went in the blink of an eye, she had survived all this time. Why? Probably out of sheer spite. She would outlive him, he was sure, and cockroaches, and Twinkies. In the meantime, she was his burden to bear, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Rowena's smile faded as Crowley rolled his eyes. "What, no plan?" she asked him.

"I'm working on it," he said through gritted teeth. In fact, he had been thinking furiously ever since that night in the Demon safe house, but coming up empty. Now that he knew Gail was with the Winchesters, he had sent minions out to the bunker on 24-hour surveillance, but they had not seen hide nor hair of her. None of Crowley's kind could enter the bunker, of course, which had the strongest known protection spells inside and outside. But he'd naively thought it would be easy to grab her once she came out, whether accompanied by a Winchester or that accursed Angel. Once given the high sign, Crowley could send a veritable army over there and protection or no, she would be taken. But how could he get to her if she never ventured outside?

He explained this to his mother, and she laughed and patted his cheek, half-lovingly, half-condescendingly. "My dear boy, there's more than one way to skin a cat," she told him. "Or...to feed it."

Once Rowena told him what she had in mind, Crowley had to admit he was impressed. This could work.

A little while later, Sam opened the back door to the bunker and breathed in the fresh air. Like Dean, he was suffering from a bit of cabin fever. They had agreed to give Gail another day or two, but needed to take action soon. This morning she had apparently had a breakthrough, and was in the kitchen with the coffee on and making breakfast for them, even humming a little tune. When Dean said it sounded familiar and asked what it was, Gail replied that it was an '80s song by Bananarama. Sam and Gail had laughed at Dean's expression then, and that had been the first decent moment they'd had since the tragedy. Gail had turned the corner now, and Sam was glad.

The fact that it was pouring rain at the moment didn't bother him. Sam had always liked the sound and the small of rain, and it helped everything grow. He should really think about planting something back here in the spring, Sam thought. He wondered how incredibly gay Dean would think this was; maybe Sam could convince him it was barley to make their own beer...

Sam spotted movement, and he looked down. It was a small black cat, mewing piteously, fur soaked and matted with the rain.

"Poor thing," Sam murmured. He crouched down and extended his hand. "C'mere."

The cat tottered up to Sam's hand, shaking with the cold and wet. It sniffed him and mewed again.

"You're hungry, I bet," Sam said to the cat. He scooped it up in his arms. "Let's get you inside."

As Sam carried the cat back into the bunker and shut the door behind him, its eyes glowed bright green and it purred. You'd almost swear it was smiling.

"What are you bringing that mangy thing in here for?" Dean rebuked Sam.

"Come on Dean, it's pouring rain out and the poor thing was out there shivering," Sam replied, drying the cat's fur with a towel.

"I don't like cats," Dean said grumpily. His cabin fever was as bad as Sam's, probably worse. "Too much negative lore. Give me a dog any day."

He could swear that the cat was glaring at him. Sam put it down on the floor as he went to the fridge to look for milk, but the cat jumped immediately into Dean's lap and sat there, tail twitching, regarding him. Dean eyed it warily.

"I know," Sam said patiently, now looking for a dish to pour the milk into. "We won't keep it, just feed it and wait for the weather to clear up."

Dean shrugged, slightly mollified. But he wanted the damn thing off him anyway. As he shoved the cat off his lap, it hissed at him and dug its claws deep into his hand, drawing blood.

"Ow!" Dean yelled. He sprang to his feet and the cat dropped to the floor.

"What did you do, Dean?" Sam asked, putting the dish of milk down.

"Nothing! The son of a bitch clawed the crap out of me!" Dean shook his hand and then sucked on the wound. An odd thing to do for someone with his background, maybe, but a human habit nonetheless.

The cat raced over to where Sam was as if for refuge and started lapping up the milk. Sam scratched its head and it began to purr again. "Don't pay any attention to that big meanie," Sam crooned to the cat.

Dean left the room in disgust, and to go wash his hand. He didn't know which was worse, a black cat or his stupid, sappy brother.

After drinking her milk and enjoying a few more tickles and strokes from Sam, Rowena leapt up on the couch and curled up for a wee nap. This was going to be fun.

An hour or so later, Gail came out to where Sam was sitting at the table. She had just finished up cleaning the kitchen after breakfast and now that she was back in the land of the living, she wanted to get things going.

"Can we talk?" she said to Sam. He put down the book he had been reading. "Sure, Gail." He smiled up at her, glad she was feeling better, and pulled a chair back for her with his foot.

"I meant all four of us," she said. "I guess we have to figure out what to do about Crowley. The sooner the better."

He stood. "Sure, I'll get Dean and Cas."

As Sam left the room, Gail sat down and was startled as a black cat jumped into her lap. Where did this cat come from? she wondered. She instinctively put out her hand for it to sniff, then started petting it. Odd she had never seen it before. The cat's green eyes were focused on her almost as if in assessment. Then it deliberately dug its claws into the hand that had been petting it and raked them into Gail's flesh.

"Ouch!" Gail shouted, springing to her feet and pushing the cat off. She put her bleeding hand to her mouth. "What the hell?"

Hearing her yell, the others came rushing into the room. Gail looked at them, shaking her hand. "It's OK, the cat just scratched me and I was startled," she told them. "I didn't mean to scare anyone."

"Goddam cat," Dean groused, looking at Sam. "Now will you get rid of that thing?"

Sam looked around then, but the cat was nowhere to be found. He shrugged. "I'll look for it later. We have to have a meeting."

The four of them sat down around the table and began to brainstorm. While the three men knew Crowley pretty well by now, they needed to formulate a plan that would accomplish their goal but keep everyone safe. Especially Gail.

For her part, Gail knew the best course of action would be to somehow dangle her as bait. While she was still unclear as to the nature of the men's past association with Crowley, she knew that they would keep her safe. But they had to draw him out, force him to make a move.

The three men were extremely uneasy about this, but Sam conceded the concept made the most sense. They would just have to figure out the best and safest way to go about it.

As the four continued to talk, Rowena wound in and out of the rooms down the corridor. Two down, two to go, she thought, and her whiskers twitched in amusement. Things are about to get all interesting up in here, to use the current vernacular. Just because they had a goal to accomplish didn't mean she couldn't play a little first.

She entered the first bedroom on the left, then, with a quick peek down the corridor, changed into her human form. She looked around the room. Nothing much to see here, save for a tan trenchcoat on the bed. The Angel's room. She smiled. She hadn't gotten him yet and didn't even know if the spell would work on him, but she was going to find out.

Rowena waved her hand over the bureau mirror, murmuring the incantation that would allow Crowley to see into the room from her ancient mirror, back at the headquarters. She then did the same in all the other bedrooms and, as the three humans slept that night, finished with the wall mirror in the library area and the one over the fireplace.

Then Rowena changed back into her cat form and nudged Castiel's door open. She knew she couldn't avoid Sam's long arms forever and figured she'd better get to it. At least she'd be able to watch all the commotion in her mirror when she was done.

She looked up at Castiel, who was sitting up in bed reading a book. Since he did not sleep, he was keeping himself occupied while the others got their rest. They had not yet come up with a solid plan but would need their wits about them once they did.

The black cat jumped up on the bed and regarded him, purring. Oooh, an Angel in bed, Rowena thought. Wish I had the time to find out what that was like.

Castiel looked at the animal, bemused. Sam had scoured the bunker for it most of the afternoon before giving up, telling Dean, "It'll show up sooner or later." Apparently he'd been right, for here it was.

The cat's green eyes stared into Castiel's blue ones in a strange kind of standoff. Castiel was indifferent to pets but he had to admit that this one looked intelligent. Suddenly, the animal leaped at his face and raked its claws down his cheek. Then he knew. They should have been more careful.

The cat sprang off his bed and raced around the corner as Castiel chased it. "Dean! Sam!" he yelled. If this beast was what he thought it was, he could use the backup.

They came running out of their rooms, Gail right behind them.

"The cat!" Castiel said. "We've got to catch it!"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, then all four of them began searching for the cat. But it was black, and had the advantage of darkness. It launched itself at Sam, claws shredding at his skin, before retreating down the hallway and vanishing from the bunker.

A while later, they had to admit defeat. They had turned on all the lights in the place and searched each room methodically, and the cat was just...gone.

Dean was fuming. "What the hell?" he raged aloud.

Sam looked around at everyone. "I'm sorry." He was embarrassed. He should have known; they were Hunters.

"So it was obviously a supernatural creature of some sort," Gail mused. "Sent by Crowley, I imagine?" She shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"Black cat? Crowley? Yeah, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet," Sam said sardonically, still stinging. "But what was the point?" The cat was gone now, and they were all still here in one piece. Had it been sent to spy on them? True, they had brainstormed this afternoon while it was here, but they had not actually come up with a concrete plan. The whole thing was puzzling.

Well, there was nothing for it now. They might as well try to go back to bed and figure things out in the morning.

Rowena was safely back in the throne room with Crowley, and she was extremely pleased with herself. She had had her mirror rolled into position and was anxious for the fireworks to start.

Crowley, on the other hand, was disgruntled. What the hell was the point of her little foray into the bunker? He looked at her and, not for the first time, wondered what was going on in her head. She was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, if you could pardon the expression.

"You'll have her, don't worry," she assured him, correctly interpreting his expression. "But first, we'll enjoy the show. We should have John make us some popcorn." She settled into the chair next to his and they gazed into the mirror, watching the occupants of the bunker.

The poison from Rowena's cat claws had entered each of their bloodstreams and was now working on them as Dean, Sam and Gail slept, and Castiel sat up, brooding.

The spell she had cooked up was a good one. She hadn't used it in years and could not think of any more deserving victims than these. The long-suffering Winchester brothers, so sanctimonious. The older one was a letch, a glutton and a thief, and the younger one was a simp who thought he was smarter than anyone else alive. The girl she didn't know, but Rowena thought it would be very interesting to have a female in the mix. And the Angel? She crossed her fingers that the spell would work on him; since he had long occupied the same human vessel, she didn't see why not. To see him succumb to sin and temptation would be the sweet red cherry on her ice cream sundae. Holier-than-thou bitches and bastards, each and every one of them. They had been a thorn in her side for her entire existence. Thinking they were on God's divine mission, and they and they alone had all the answers to everything. Killing and burning her and her son's kind and justifying it all in the name of religion. Yeah, Angels were the worst of them all.

Rowena knew that her son was impatient to recapture the girl, but she also knew that he would enjoy the show that was about to commence. And if he didn't, screw him. Sometimes, girls just want to have fun.

Dean strode into the library area in the morning. Sam was at the table in front of the computer as usual, books stacked to the side.

"Find anything on the cat?" Dean asked him, breezing past to the coffee machine. He grabbed the decanter. Empty. Turning back towards Sam, he asked, "Where's the coffee?"

Sam looked up from the computer screen and fixed Dean with a baleful glare. "How about you go back to your room, come in again, and say Good Morning?"

"Touchy, touchy," Dean said, turning back and poking through the cupboards. "We got any snacks?"

Sam's blood was boiling. It was maddening how Dean just breezed into the room every morning, expecting little Sammy to have everything done, ready, and figured out for him. Who died and made Dean king?

"Maybe," Sam said through clenched teeth, "you could get your own snacks and make your own coffee for once."

Dean paused. Little Sammy must have gotten up on the wrong side of a cold, empty bed this morning. They'd have to go back out on the road and get him laid, then he'd be in a better mood. He opened his mouth and was about to say as much when Sam erupted.

"You know what, screw you, Dean!" Sam stood to his full height and as Dean turned around, startled, he saw that Sam's face was contorted with rage. "I'm not your little bitch! Why don't you try getting off your lazy ass for a change and actually DOING something around here instead of looking at yourself in the mirror and blowing kisses?"

It was a little bit funny, Dean conceded, but his temper also started to rise. The siblings had had many blow-ups over the years; being in such close proximity with each other all the time and doing what they did inevitably resulted in squabbling and differences of opinion. But he had never seen Sam go from zero to sixty this fast, and alarm bells started to go off.

Dean approached Sam, scrutinizing his face. Sam looked angry as hell, but he also looked hurt, too. God, Dean was so sick of that look. Little puppy-dog Sammy, sensitive as a delicate flower. Such a martyr.

"What's your problem, man?" Dean asked him, the Mark on his arm starting to burn.

"You, Dean. You're my problem." Sam's hands began to curl into fists, as if of their own accord. "You just walk around here like some self-entitled jerk, thinking you're God's gift to women and expecting everyone to cater to you. You may be the older one but you have a lot of growing up to do. Here, read a book, you might learn something!" Sam screamed, picking up the top book and firing it at Dean's head. This was so unexpected that Dean didn't duck in time and the book hit him in the face.

OK, now he was pissed. It was time to kick some little brother ass.

Sam advanced on Dean and the fight was on. At first glance it looked like other scraps they'd had in the past, but when Sam broke free and grabbed a knife from the drawer, Rowena and Crowley sat up straighter. This just got interesting.

Meanwhile, Gail sat at her bureau mirror, brushing her hair. She'd woken up feeling very strange this morning, languishing in bed, hoping someone else would make the coffee and the breakfast today. Since she had come out of her depression it seemed they had fallen into traditional roles, which of course meant that as the woman, the cooking and the cleaning had fallen to her. It had been the same thing with Frank. She felt a pang of guilt when thinking of her recently deceased brother, but her annoyance remained. Since when did having a vagina qualify you to be a domestic expert? There was so much more to her than that, and no one seemed to care. She was just as smart as Sam and could be just as brave as Dean if given the chance. And what about her special abilities? There was so much she could do. She could really be an asset to the Winchester brothers if they would take her seriously.

And she wanted to stay. This was a nice place they had here, much nicer than any place she and Frank had stayed at. Gail loved her creature comforts even though she rarely got them, and she sometimes envied people who had all the money in the world but not enough brains to know what to spend it on. Once she had settled in here and was fully accepted, she would have to fix up the place a bit. She could also use some nicer clothes; she had had these same worn jeans and ratty tops for quite a while.

Even as she was thinking these things, a part of Gail wondered why she was thinking them. She was and always had been a low maintenance girl, so why was she suddenly acting like Zsa Zsa Gabor? But that part of her, the real essence, began to fade as Rowena's poison took hold, and Gail looked at herself in the mirror. She stood up and took off her top and blue jeans, tossing them carelessly on the floor. She stood in her bra and panties, checking out her reflection. She still looked pretty good, had a nice enough body. She couldn't help but wonder if any of the guys had even noticed. All those years on the road with her brother; she could count the amount of times she'd had sex on one hand, with four fingers left over. Regrettable. Maybe now that her brother was out of the way she'd have more opportunities. She had missed out on a lot of things.

This thought about Frank was the most horrible, vilest thing she had ever allowed herself to think, but there it was. The poison coursing through her body had completely taken her over, and she wondered which man she would try to seduce. Dean would be the obvious choice. He was handsome and muscular, and he obviously had loads of experience. But she didn't want to be the latest in a long line of conquests; even as she reveled in her dark side, Gail knew that wasn't really her style. Sam? He was tall with big hands, and you know what they said about that...he would be the type to bring you flowers and call you the next morning. All very sweet, but she thought he might get too clingy, too needy, and that's not what she wanted either.

Then what did she want? She honestly didn't know.

As Gail sat back down at the bureau, the door to her room opened and Castiel walked in. She saw him in the mirror behind her and thought it was funny that he had never even crossed her mind. Perhaps even in her weakened state that was a line that she had not thought to cross. Sex with an Angel? Was that even possible? Was it sacrilege? The truth was, while she appreciated the handsomeness of his vessel and those beautiful blue eyes, he seemed too good, too pure, to be thought of in those base terms.

"Hi," she said to Castiel. She was too deep in the throes of the spell to wonder why he had just walked into her room without knocking and didn't seem fazed that she was only wearing underwear. The Castiel she thought she'd come to know would have been apologetic, stammering, his eyes looking at anything but her.

But he was looking at her, his beautiful blue eyes gazing directly into hers. "Hi," he replied, approaching where she sat.

Oooh, this was getting good, Rowena thought. Too bad they didn't have picture-in-picture. But no matter. She waved her hand and the image shifted back to the Winchesters. They were locked in a death battle, fighting for supremacy over the knife. Crowley was more interested in this scene. If the brothers were to kill each other off, it would vastly improve his chances of reacquiring Gail. Truth be told, he would miss the fun of sparring with the brothers, Moose and Squirrel, as he called them almost affectionately. But maybe the time had come to let go. They had been a pain in his arse for so long, and the final straw may have been kidnapping him and forcing human blood into his veins, holding him until he felt...things. In one particularly precious Oprah moment, he remembered having lost it entirely and confessing to Sam [at least Dean had been elsewhere at the time] that all he'd ever wanted was love and acceptance. How revolting was that? And for that, he reserved a special dark place in his mostly black heart for Sam. If Sam were to die, no one would ever find out. So he'd better start rooting.

Castiel approached Gail as if in some sort of trance. He appraised her coolly, appreciating her female form as he had never done with any woman before, even years ago when he had been human. Even in full human life, he had always been awkward around women, and had died lonely, a virgin. He had spent his existence as an Angel believing this was his lot, what God wanted of him, to spend eternity alone and unloved. But what had he done in life that was so bad to condemn him to such a fate? Didn't he deserve to have even one night of Earthly love, just so he could find out what all the fuss was about?

There was enough Angel left in him to wonder what he was doing as he approached Gail and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. But Rowena's poison claws had worked their dark magic on him as well. Though not as weak as the humans, Castiel had momentarily lost his ability to fight the urge that overwhelmed him now for physical contact and intimacy. Because he and Gail had shared a special bond from the night they'd met, he rationalized to himself that it was all right, that she would want the same thing. So he'd come to her room, looking for...what? Sex? Salvation? Love?

He ran his hand down her neck to her shoulder, and slipped one of her bra straps down. She stood up and faced him, looking deep into his eyes.

Gail felt a lot of things at that moment and couldn't seem to choose which feeling to go with. Castiel was decisive; he was done waiting. He grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth. She felt herself responding, her body melting into his. It was such a cliche but it was true, she had never been kissed like this before, so loving and tender yet so sensual at the same time. God, she was going to be writing Harlequin novels in a minute.

She enjoyed the kiss for another moment; after all, she was only human. Then she found the strength no one knew she had, not even herself, and pushed him away. "No," she said reluctantly. "This isn't you, and this isn't me. Not under these circumstances," she said, fighting the impulse to just let him throw her down on the bed and...But there was something wrong here.

Rowena swore as she watched Gail push Castiel away. What the hell was this girl playing at? Rowena was about to savour the sight of the Angel surrendering to the base urges everyone had, practically committing rape, knowing he could never come back from that, when the stupid woman had called a halt to the proceedings. And just when Rowena had been gloating to her son about infecting the quartet with the Seven Deadly Sins all at once, this little slip of a girl was spoiling her voyeuristic fun.

Castiel took another step towards Gail, but she put her hand on his chest to stop him. She allowed herself a brief moment to imagine him naked, on top of her in bed, kissing her, touching her, his lips on her body...No. This wasn't right. There was some other force at work here.

"Castiel," she said, her voice shaking. Then more firmly, "Castiel. We have to stop this. There's something weird going on here."

And then they heard the shouts coming from the library area, sounds that had been blocked to them while they were under Rowena's spell of Lust. It sounded like a life-or-death struggle, and it could only be Sam and Dean.

"We've got to help them," Gail said. After sparing a moment to imagine what making love with Gail would have been like, Castiel shook out of his reverie and followed her out of the room.

"Bollocks," Crowley swore, as Castiel and Gail ran towards Sam and Dean. "So much for that."

Rowena was a little bit down, too. It was kind of like when your favourite show was cancelled without a resolution. Yeah, she kept up with the times; it helped keep her young. Well, relatively speaking. But she had faith in the endgame.

"Hold on." She put her hand on her son's arm. "You never know what these humans are going to do."

Turned out she was right.

Castiel and Gail tore into the library area and dove between Dean and Sam. Castiel took on Dean, knowing the Mark made him stronger, while Gail took Sam, hoping he'd be more pliable.

"What are you doing?" Gail demanded of Sam, who was pushing her back, but half-heartedly. She was encouraged by that; there was still enough Sam in him to make him reluctant to be violent with a woman.

Meanwhile, Cas had his hands full with Dean. Dean was shouting incoherently, trying to get Sam to continue the fight. Dean had the knife in his hand. He wanted to kill the snot-nosed son of a bitch. "Let me go, Cas," he roared. "All work and no play makes Sam a dull boy!"

"'The Shining', right?" Cas snapped back, flooring Dean for a moment. He was so shocked he stopped struggling. "How the hell did you know that?" he asked Cas. "I pay attention," Cas replied archly.

They looked into each other's eyes and laughed together, and the spell was broken. Dean looked at the knife in his hand with a puzzled expression and then flung it away. Had he really been thinking about killing his brother? What the hell?

Meanwhile, Sam was still in the throes of rage. Gail was lucky she was a girl; he didn't want to hurt her, he barely knew her, he just wanted to kill his brother. This had been a long time coming.

Gail struggled with Sam for as long as she could but it was a losing battle and she knew it. In a matter of moments he was going to toss her aside like a rag doll and go after his brother.

All she could think of to do was to throw her arms around him. "Please, Sam," she pleaded. "You don't want to do this. He's your brother."

"Yes, I do," Sam said through gritted teeth. But was it her imagination, or were Sam's struggles waning?

"Show's over," Rowena announced, rising from her chair, but suddenly, Crowley wasn't so sure. This was must-see TV. For one brief shining moment, he was smarter than his mother. There was more to see.

Sam and Dean finally stood down under the ministrations of Gail and Castiel and it seemed like peace would once again reign in the bunker.

But then Dean turned to face Gail, fighting himself, fighting the Mark. He rolled up his sleeve and showed her the Mark which was glowing red, livid, just about to burst out of his skin with the bloodlust which was denied to it when he hadn't killed Sam.

"You're a Healer," he said to Gail in an almost accusing tone. "Can you heal this?"

They looked into each other's eyes and Gail's heart broke for him. "Please," Dean breathed, his eyes pleading.

She decided. "I can try."

Crowley just about peed his pants, but then again, this was worth the price of admission. He was dying of curiousity. This girl was valuable, he knew that already, but if she could actually do that, he would send his mother packing and put Gail in the seat next to him, raising her above all others.

Rowena looked at him sharply, as if reading his mind. Crowley moved his hand as if to dismiss her, feeling his oats. He continued to watch the mirror avidly, irrationally hoping it might work. He knew deep down, of course, that it wouldn't, it couldn't. Being as he was the only one who actually knew how to remove it.

Gail approached Dean then, until she was standing close enough to feel his breath. Sam and Castiel stood down, wondering if this could possibly be the answer.

"Pick up the knife," Gail said to Dean. He walked over to where he had flung it and brought it back to where she stood. They continued to stare at each other.

"Try to cut it out of your arm," Gail said to Dean. "Cut deep. Excise it. Then I'll heal your arm," she said. He motioned with the knife, but she put her hand on his arm, stopping him for a moment.

"You know there's no guarantee this'll work, right?" Her eyes pleaded with his, hoping against hope but knowing there was no precedent for something like this.

He nodded briefly, then plunged the knife into his arm, sawing away at the area that held the Mark, cutting his arm to ribbons in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the Mark's burden.

Once the chunk of his arm that had held the Mark was gone, Dean held out his arm to Gail in supplication. Tears streaming down her face, Gail reached out her hands and placed them on Dean's bloody and mangled arm.

The golden glow emanated from her fingers as she began to heal his wound. They both stared down and Sam and Castiel drew near as Dean's wound sealed up and his skin was pristine.

They all took a breath, and so did Crowley, watching intently.

Then the Mark raged back, stronger than ever, and Dean's eyes turned black. "You stupid bitch!" he raged. "You had one job..."

He grabbed Gail and threw her across the room. Her head hit on a bookshelf and she sunk down to the floor, groaning in pain.

Dean advanced on her but Sam and Castiel grabbed him, holding him back but just barely. "What is the matter with you?" Dean shouted at Gail. "You can't do anything right, can you?" She looked up at him, eyes pleading, but he went on, "You couldn't save your brother, you can't even save yourself! I hope Crowley gets you, you useless bitch! Then you'll see what my Hell really looks like! If he's done even half of the things I've done, Frank's probably already there, waiting for you!"

Castiel had had enough. He grabbed Dean around the waist, his blue eyes blazing, and squeezed until Dean's eyes turned back to their normal green colour. Dean stopped struggling and looked down at Gail, realizing what he had done and hating himself, once again.

Gail struggled to her feet and looked at the three of them. She couldn't take this any more. She ran up the stairs and fled the bunker, breaking the seal of protection. John had her before the others got outside.


	6. Hell's Bells

Gail slowly woke up and surveyed her surroundings. She was in a room with no other furniture but the bed she was laying on. She stirred and felt the chains that bound her arms to the head of the bed. Dammit. Crap.

She vaguely remembered fleeing the bunker and feeling strong arms grabbing her from behind, then the jab of a needle and...that was it. Then she had awoken here, wherever here was. But she had a pretty good idea.

She groaned inwardly. Crowley had gotten her after all. Now all she could do was wait to die. He would have to kill her because she would never do anything for him. Never.

Sam and Dean paced the floor of the bunker. Castiel sat watching them, his human vessel's guts churning.

Sam turned to face Dean. "You've got to call Crowley," he demanded. "You know he's got her."

Dean's stomach clenched. He didn't think he could bear any more guilt. The newly-renewed Mark on his arm burned but he ignored it, burying the anger for the moment in his despair. This was all his fault. He had pushed Gail to the brink with his desperation to get rid of the Mark and now she was gone. He might as well have delivered her to Crowley himself, on a silver platter while he was at it. Mark or not, he was the scum of the earth.

Sam was staring at Dean, impatient. He knew Dean, knew how he must be feeling, but this was no time for self-pity. They had to get Gail back any way they could.

"Call him, Dean," he implored.

Dean took out his cell phone, but hesitated. Why would Crowley return Gail to him, to them?

Castiel then stood and walked over to Dean. "Make the call, " he growled.

Dean saw the expression on Castiel's face. He made the call.

Crowley had been sitting, waiting, his cell phone on the armrest of his throne. Of course he knew this call would come. He was surprised that it had even taken this long.

After a few rings, just to make them stew a bit, he picked up. "Dean. Dean-o. My main man. My BFF," he taunted into the phone. "You never write, you never call...I'm starting to think you don't love me any more."

"Cut the crap, Crowley," Dean snapped, shouting in his ear. Crowley held the phone away from his head for a moment, but he was smiling.

"What's the matter, Dean? Lose something? Not your virginity, that's for sure," he quipped.

"Give her back, you son of a bitch." Dean's voice was dark, threatening. Crowley's grin widened.

"You're cute when you're angry," he told Dean playfully. Like mother, like son; sometimes you just needed to have a little fun.

"Don't screw with me, Crowley," Dean growled. If Crowley could have seen the look on Dean's face, even he might have taken a step or two back.

"I would never dream of doing that," Crowley responded smoothly. "I may be a Demon, but even I have my standards."

It took all the self-control Dean could muster at that moment not to fling his phone against the wall, smashing it to bits. He raged into the phone, cutting off Crowley's smartass rejoinder. "I'm done playing games with you! You're gonna give her back right now, or..."

"Or what?" Crowley sneered into the phone, his amusement gone. "What exactly do you think is going to happen here? What are you going to do about it?"

"Come in there and kill each and every one of you," Dean said calmly. His rage was so white-hot that he couldn't move, couldn't think. He was also very scared. If they didn't get Gail back in one piece, his life was over. Between enduring the Mark and now the two-ton weight of guilt sitting on his chest, Dean might as well let Crowley have him too. If anything happened to Gail, he deserved to burn in Hell for eternity.

"I'll call you sometime, big boy," Crowley purred into the phone, then hung up. The give-and-take was fun in small doses, but currently pointless. He had no intention of meeting with Dean or anyone else and he certainly wasn't going to give Gail up. She and her talents were his now, to do with as he pleased. She should feel privileged, special. Out of all the humans with these types of abilities [and there were surprisingly many], he had chosen her to join his team.

Crowley sighed. But she wouldn't be grateful at all. He knew she would fight him tooth and nail, telling him she'd rather die than join him. She had thrown in her lot with the Winchesters and the Angel and no amount of persuasion would convince her that Crowley would care for her and treat her better than they ever could. If she would join him willingly he could give her anything and everything she'd ever wanted. Hell, he'd even bring the damned Angel here and give him to Gail as a present if that was what it took. He was no fool, he'd seen the way they looked at each other. In all his existence, no woman had ever looked at Crowley that way. If he had been truly loved like that just once in his miserable life, things would have been different. He could have been a hero, a stand-up guy. He'd have looked dashing with wings...

OK, that was enough self-indulgence; any more of these goody-goody thoughts and he was going to throw up. It was what it was, and he was who he was. Funny thing, he wasn't really all that different from Gail and her friends. Now that he'd seen how they had behaved under the influence of his mother's spell, Crowley was convinced that any human could turn dark side if presented with the right motivation. The question was, what was Gail's?

He smiled. He knew, of course; her love for her friends. Though he had spent his whole life without it, Crowley understood love intellectually. It was the most powerful human motivator, stronger than hate, transcending death itself. Conversely, because human nature was just that idiotic, love was also their greatest weakness. Humans all claimed to crave love, would go to the ends of the Earth and back to get it, and when they were lucky enough to find it, most of the morons threw it away with both hands. Jealousy, greed, adultery...and they had the gall to call Crowley and his mother sinners. That was rich. At least he and Rowena were honest about themselves and their motivations.

Speaking of which, Crowley had some work to do. As he walked down the hall to Gail's room, his mind cleared of all extraneous thoughts and he knew how to accomplish his goal.

Sam was ready to rip his hair out by the roots. He had scoured through every website at his disposal, including some really far-out ones, until his computer was hot to the touch. Nothing. He ripped the books off the shelves in frustration, giving each a cursory page-through before allowing them to pile up on the floor. Research was almost always the key when the brothers were working a case but it was useless in this situation, and that meant so was he.

With a tacit understanding that they would not talk about guilt or shame or any of the emotions associated with Gail's abduction, her three friends had tried to buckle down and work this like any other case. But when you dealt with a being like Crowley, all bets were off.

Sam kicked the books on the floor in a moment of petulance. He was at a loss as to what to do next. It was killing him to think of Gail being held captive by the King of Hell. What was Crowley doing to her?

At the moment Crowley was doing nothing to Gail except regarding her coolly. He had just entered her cell and noted she was awake.

"Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth of taste," he said with a straight face. Receiving no reaction, he frowned. That was the funniest thing he had ever said. Even Dean would have appreciated it.

Gail actually had gotten it, but would never have admitted this to him. It was obvious by his bearing and by the way he was dressed that he was the Boss. Crowley. After all these years of hating him, she was finally looking into the eyes of her parents' killer. And her brother's too, of course. Along with many, many other innocent souls, she was sure. She could only imagine all the evil things he'd done on his rise to power.

She glared at him, wishing for the first time that she had the power to hurt rather than to heal. She'd love to put her hands on him and watch him writhe with pain.

He moved forward to where she lay and made a motion over her. She looked at him in terror for a moment but then realized she could move her arms. He had released her from the chains.

He moved to the foot of her bed and sat down on it, saying nothing, just looking at her. Gail rubbed her wrists where the shackles had chafed her skin and looked back at him, trying to look as cool and dispassionate as he did.

What gave her away was the look of revulsion on her face. Crowley sighed inwardly. THAT look, he was used to.

He spoke then, breaking the ice. "I'm sorry for the rough treatment," he said to her in his most gentle voice, trying not to spook her. Gail's body was very still, like a deer that had just been spotted by a hunter in the woods. Crowley, a hunter. His beard twitched. He should really be writing these down. She had adopted a fight-or-flight posture and while he knew she could do neither, that didn't mean he wanted his vessel to be harmed. He had worn it for years now, and he thought the guy had been rather a handsome fellow.

He continued, "My assistant John is a rather large individual who likes his job a bit too much." He tried a smile, hoping it would disarm her. "We'll definitely have to chat about that in his next job review."

Oh God, he was trying to charm her. He spoke in a fluid British accent and he was acting like they were at a cocktail party or something. And while she hadn't exactly expected him to be sporting horns, carrying a pitchfork and speaking in tongues, this was somehow worse. He was obviously mocking her.

"Well, you'd better warn him in his next job review that his boss is a douche," she snapped. Dean would have been proud.

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. He had also thought of Dean in that moment. Sometimes he missed hanging out with Squirrel; he'd been good for a laugh. This girl might be better than he'd hoped.

"Very good," he said to her. "Are you sure you're not a Winchester? Adopted, maybe? You could ask your fam- oh, that's right, you can't." He WAS mocking her now, and threw her a look of fake sympathy. Though hers had been a pretty good zinger, it would not do to let her forget who was in charge here. The King was due his respect, and he was damn well going to have it.

She did launch herself at him then, screaming, "You bastard!", but he caught her arms and brought them together, and her wrists were suddenly bound by ropes. Then her feet. He pushed her back down into a sitting position on the bed and rose to face her. Not that he was the least bit frightened of another attack, but it felt like the prudent move nonetheless.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he said to her, back to a calm and reasonable tone. "I'd like you to join my team. With your talents, we could do great things."

Was he freaking kidding her with this? Releasing her from her chains, talking pleasantly to her, then making that crack about her family and using his Stupid Demon Tricks on her. Now talking to her like she was interviewing for a prestigious job position. Were Demons bipolar? Umm, yeah, they probably were. He was keeping her off-balance, that was for sure. But then, that was by design. No matter. Nothing he said or did was going to make any difference.

"I can see by the look on your face that you aren't yet receptive to my sales pitch," he said, equal parts humour and sarcasm.

"Yet?" She scoffed. He was going to have to kill her anyway, so what did it matter? At least she'd be reunited with Frank and her parents. She felt a pang as she thought about Sam, about Dean, and yes, especially about Castiel. If she was going to die anyway, she might as well be honest with herself. She had special feelings for him, maybe it was love and maybe it wasn't, but that would remain a moot point as she'd likely be dead before being able to do any deep self-analysis on the subject.

She fixed Crowley with the most withering stare she could muster while contemplating her imminent and likely very gory death at his hands. "I wouldn't join your 'team' of losers if I were the last person on earth!" she exclaimed.

"You may very well be the last person on Earth when we're done," he answered pleasantly enough, then his tone became more menacing. "And it's your side who'll be the losers."

Crap. That did not sound good. In any event, she might as well go for broke. "What makes you think I'd even consider joining a bunch of Demons? Working for the guy who killed my whole family? Are you on crack?"

Crowley was angry but as he stepped towards her, that last comment of hers gave him a wonderful, awful, brilliant idea. He stopped in his tracks. Damn, this was going to be good. She would change her tune if this idea of his worked. He didn't see why it wouldn't, as he'd had first-hand experience with it.

He was going to give her regular injections of Demon blood. Sanctimonious little bitch. Give him a couple of weeks and she'd be completely on board.

The smile he gave her before he turned around and swept out the door would haunt Gail for hours.

Castiel was pacing back and forth, from room to room, almost as if haunting the place. He had always been a quiet, somewhat reserved individual, even when he had been a human, but now...he was frantic.

" Cas, you've gotta stop, man, you're freaking me out," Dean said to him. He had never seen Cas like this. Cas had always been a little left of centre, a bit of an odd duck really, and you never quite knew what he was going to do or say next. But Dean was the human who knew him best and Dean knew that this was pretty whackadoo behaviour even for Cas.

Cas wheeled on him. "I can't help it Dean, we've got to find out where Crowley's keeping her!" Dean knew it too. "Thanks, Captain Obvious," he retorted testily. Cas looked at him, nonplussed for a moment. His knowledge of pop culture and current expressions was still hit-and-miss.

Dean waved him off. "Never mind."

"You haven't been able to find anything? Anything at all?" Cas pleaded.

"Nothing. Nada. Zilch." Dean fumed. He was extremely frustrated. This had never happened to Sam and Dean before. All their knowledge, all the lore, all the contacts they had amassed over the years, and it was all worthless. All of their interactions with Crowley in the past had happened in public places, except for the time he had been a "guest" of theirs at the bunker. He had them at a distinct disadvantage; he knew where they lived but they had no clue where he did.

Castiel said something then that floored Dean. "Well, you and Sam had better get your crap together. Gail's out there and she needs us."

Dean had heard some quasi-badass talk from Cas in the past but he was shocked by this. What had gotten into him?

He stared at Cas, trying to read his expression. His forehead was furrowed with worry lines and his eyes were sad, like a basset hound's. Oh, crap. No way. Dean had seen that look once or twice in the movies, movies he made a point to avoid at all costs but had accidentally stumbled upon from time to time. Chick-flicks.

"You're in love with her," he said softly.

Cas was startled. Was he? No...He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Could it be? He had spent hundreds of years hoping and praying for an end to his loneliness and isolation, then hundreds more realizing that prayers weren't wishes to be granted and so he had stopped. And now? Had it come to him at last, when he'd given up?

He shook his head. "I don't know, Dean."

Dean would normally have taunted him unmercifully at this, but given the situation and Castiel's obvious anguish, he let it slide. But guilt once again reared its ugly head. Great. This just kept getting better and better.

Days passed, then a couple of weeks. Sam pulled the car into the bunker's garage and turned down the heater before shutting off the engine. Brr, it was getting brisk out there. He reached for the bags of groceries to bring them into the house. It had been startling entering the grocery store and seeing all the Christmas decorations. Sometimes you tended to lose track of time when doing what he and Dean did, and for many years they had ignored Christmas altogether. But in the last few years, especially now that they had a real home, Sam had made an effort to arrange some sort of Christmas celebration. He thought they were the better for it and if nothing else it was his way to try to counterbalance all the evil that they encountered the rest of the year.

He had picked up a newspaper in the store and saw the date: December 3rd. There was still time, but he just didn't think his heart was in it this year. While not exactly having given up, he, Dean and Castiel were at a total loss. Gail could be dead by now, or worse. When you were being held captive by Demons, death was the more attractive alternative. Of all of the people he and Dean had lost over the years, this one hurt the worst. He didn't know if they'd ever get over it.

Sam had volunteered to go to the store just to get out of the place for a bit. The atmosphere in the bunker was toxic, oppressive. They had been moving around each other like caged tigers. Not one man could point the finger at any other of them for fear it would be turned back at him. Dean's actions may have driven Gail out of the place that day but they were all equally to blame. She had deserved better from them and they had failed her, were still failing her now.

With Christmas rapidly approaching, what they needed was a miracle.

Crowley was thinking about Christmas too, but approaching it from a completely different viewpoint, of course. He and his kind hated Christmas more than any other time of the year. All that peace, love and goodwill towards men. What a crock. Unlike Good Friday, which in his opinion was aptly named and a festival of sorts for Demons, Christmas was the worst time to be a Demon. Something came over humans around that time and they were suddenly less receptive to most of the vices and sin that made them ripe for the picking.

But this year would be different. The time had come for the denizens of Hell to claim their just rewards. Crowley had arranged a meeting with all of the major players in the Demon hierarchy to take place on December 24th and 25th. It was with a delicious sense of irony that Crowley contemplated the Summit ahead. While humans were going to church, celebrating fellowship with each other, the King of Hell and his Designated Hitters would be sitting down to a feast and planning their imminent destruction.

A couple of weeks prior, Crowley had been concerned almost to the point of cancelling the conference. Before he had begun the process of injecting his own blood into Gail's veins, he had been worried that his secret weapon would not be ready in time.

But now...he smiled, thinking of Gail with fondness. She wasn't what he had originally envisioned; she was so much more.

He had been systematically dosing her since the night of their first confrontation and it was paying off, bigger than any Vegas jackpot. She was opening up like a flower, starting to reveal powers he'd never dreamt she had. He had no misgivings now; in fact, he couldn't wait for Christmas to get here.

It was time again. He rolled up his sleeve and tied off, withdrawing a syringe of blood from his arm with the ease of practice. When he finished, he picked up the house phone and summoned John, careful to adjust his clothes and pinch his cheeks for colour before his Head Minion arrived. No one was to know where the blood was coming from; that was his little secret.

When Crowley had initially formulated his unspeakable plan for Gail's conversion, he thought that he would just use one or two of his chosen minions, torture them and bleed them dry. But he had grand plans and that seemed - well, lesser, somehow. Minions were minions for a reason, pathetic souls who toiled under his supervision and were exceedingly ordinary. If he wanted to create a Demon Queen, he needed the blood of a Demon King.

So he had been introducing his own blood into Gail's system daily, using big John to hold her down and give her the injections. But Crowley did not trust anyone in his circle enough to reveal the origin of the blood, not even his mother. Though he supposed he did feel some kind of twisted and misguided love for Rowena, he was growing increasingly suspicious of her motives for being here. Under her sweet, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth demeanour, Rowena continued to treat him with thinly veiled contempt and condescension. Her son wasn't as much of a fool as she seemed to think, though, and as soon as the Summit was over and everything was in place he was going to cut his mother loose. By that time, Gail would be more than ready to take her place.

Rowena and John were laying in bed, enjoying the moment of the post-sex afterglow. Rowena was running her hand over his chest and cooing, encouraging him to talk. Ever since kicking him out of bed that first time, Rowena had learned that if she could keep John awake long enough after sex, he was a veritable treasure trove of information. So she allowed him to linger now, and had been able to pry her son's secrets from him. As the Head Minion, John was privy to all of Crowley's comings and goings and knew all the inner workings of his organization.

The biggest news tonight was the upcoming Summit, and Rowena listened with rapt attention as John told her everything: the dates, the location, and most importantly, the list of invitees.

Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. This was her chance. It was high time for a change of command around here. Though she flattered and fawned over John to get what she needed, she realized she would have to take care of him, and soon. Oh well, one less man around, one less egg to fry. Every male Demon she had ever met was a misogynistic jerk anyway. America had finally elected a black President, but the Demon world had never had a female at the helm. And look at the non-progress they'd made.

But change is good, and they'd thrive under Rowena's administration. And if any chauvinistic cockbag meat suit Demon didn't like it, she'd send him straight back to Hell for the ultimate time out. After all, she was a mother.

She felt a slight tinge of regret that she would have to kill her son along with every other Demon attending the Summit, though. When she'd first allowed herself to be brought here, she had briefly thought they could form a real alliance, rule Hell as a family. But she had quickly realized there was no substance to the style, that he was just another tinpot dictator with dreams and schemes, just as empty as the vessel he occupied. She sighed. Where had she gone wrong? OK, she had tried to sell him when he was a child, then finally given up and abandoned him. But he was the fruit of her womb and she had expected much more from him as a result.

Rowena shrugged. Oh well, time to sleep. "You can get out now," she said sweetly to John. He glared at her briefly but had grown accustomed to this treatment by now, and he knew there was no percentage in arguing.

John dressed quickly and left her room to check in with the Boss, shaking his head. The woman was good in the sack and would let him practice any number of perversions on her but she was a stone cold bitch. He had begun to hope that Crowley would see the light and take her out like the trash she was. He'd do it himself if the Boss was receptive.

Gail was sitting on her bed, waiting for Crowley to come. She looked forward to his visits now, if for nothing else than to relieve the boredom of being cooped up in here all the time. At least he had provided her with a bit of furniture now, a few changes of clothes, and some toiletries. He hinted there would be much more to come in the following days and made some sort of joke about Christmas.

Christmas? How long had she been here?

And did it really matter? After the first night and meeting Crowley, she had been in a pit of despair. The first few days, she wished he would just kill her now. What was he waiting for? He knew she would defy him every step of the way, so what good was she to him?

When John had entered her room the day after their initial meeting carrying a hypodermic, she thought she understood: he was going to try to drug her into compliance. She nearly laughed. What a loser. As if that was going to work.

The contents of the needle were dark and red, and she wondered what kind of drug it could be. Helpless and chained once again, Gail tried to struggle but there was nothing she could do. John tied off her arm and injected the contents of the syringe directly into the vein in the crook of her arm, as if it were heroin and she was an addict. Then he untied the tourniquet and abruptly left the room without a word.

It had been the same routine every day for who knew how many days, then one day Crowley had accompanied his minion and stayed once John left the room.

He sat by her on the bed and released her from her chains as he had on the first day they had met. But this time he did not retreat. It was time for an experiment.

As Gail sat up, she rubbed her wrists and stretched her body, working the kinks out.

"Can I get up and move around a bit?" she asked Crowley, grimacing at the stiffness in her muscles.

"Sure," he said nicely. He didn't move to allow her to pass, though, so she had to maneuver around him to get off the bed. She did not touch him, carefully avoiding contact. She didn't even want to contemplate reading him; one glimpse into that brain and she'd probably never sleep again. Besides, what was there to read? She knew who he was and what he wanted.

Gail bent over to touch her toes, stretching her body out. That felt good. Boy, was she sore.

Crowley leaned back, enjoying the view. Well, she had passed the first test; they had been in close proximity and she had not clawed his eyes out. Time for a bit more.

"How are you feeling, Gail?" he asked gently, hopefully.

Her stretching interrupted, Gail turned around to face him, considering the question. How was she feeling? Strange. Disjointed. When she first got here, all she had thought about and envisioned was a gruesome death for Crowley and rescue from his clutches. But where were her heroes? As the days passed, she had to accept that they weren't coming for her, had given up on her. They had found the place where Frank had been held so quickly, so easily. With all the resources and knowledge they had at their disposal, why hadn't they found this place and stormed the crap out of it? She had forgotten that it had just been a lucky break that had led them to find the house where Frank had been. Or maybe not forgotten exactly, but...

As the time passed and the poison from Crowley's blood began to accumulate in her body, Gail had to face facts. Those guys she had been living with had probably never really cared about her. They had just located Frank to get her off their backs, and once he was found dead and their job was finished, they had no more use for her. As her hurt and bitterness grew, she found their faces growing dim in her mind until she could no longer even remember their names. She was on her own now.

So she'd better get with the program. Though still not really on board with this whole Demon thing, she was tired of being chained up with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

"Sore," she said in response to Crowley's question. "Bored. Hungry."

He smiled. "I think we can do something about that," he said to her. "What would you like to eat?"

Incredibly, she smiled back at him and his heart leaped. He knew she would be his in that moment, and he could have her any way he wanted. If he was patient just a little while longer, he would have his Queen.

Another week passed, then another. Gail had grown in leaps and bounds, Crowley thought with pride.

She had free run of the place now, chains left behind. She took dinner with him and Rowena every night. Crowley enjoyed the finer things on Earth and was ecstatic to find out that Gail felt the same way. They ate from the best china and drank the finest wines at an elegantly set table.

Since the last time he had freed her and they had shared that smile, Crowley had bonded with Gail in a way he had never thought possible. She was quick-witted and intelligent, well-read and well-mannered. He had provided her with all sorts of creature comforts including beauty products and a luxurious new wardrobe, and she was beautiful now, positively radiant.

And her powers...he had been astonished at the new abilities she had demonstrated. Like an onion, her abilities seemed endless, one layer after another. A couple of nights ago, Crowley had brought one of his minions to her room and Gail had merely waved her hand at the pathetic girl, and...Poof! shattered her into a million pieces. Gail could also now inflict wounds on beings just by laying her hands on them. She had retained her healing abilities as well, so he could now by extension have the best of both worlds.

Just last night, as the ultimate final exam as it were, he had brought a human child into the den. The boy had been sniveling and wailing for his parents, terrified. Crowley and Rowena had watched in fascination, minions behind them as witnesses. Crowley had asked Gail to approach the child. He only ever gently asked, never commanded; that was the best way to handle her, he had discovered. Gail had opened up her arms to the boy and he had run into them eagerly, seeking the comfort of a mother. A moment later, Gail had stepped back, her white dress covered with the child's blood. The boy had staggered back from her with a momentary look of disbelief and sorrow. Then he had fallen, dead, from the wounds her embrace had inflicted on him.

Gail had looked up from the boy then, making eye contact with Crowley. She had raised an eyebrow to him, then had stepped towards the human child as if anticipating the request to heal him.

"I think not," Crowley had said, casually but firmly.

Gail had stopped in her tracks and looked at him again, the expression on her face unreadable.

Crowley had gazed back at her, waiting. Gail's next action would determine once and for all whether he could call her his.

"Go get cleaned up, my darling," he had crooned. "Then we'll have a cocktail before dinner."

She'd spared a brief glance at the child's body, then left the room.

Crowley had motioned for a couple of his minions to dispose of the body. They rushed forward to do his bidding. But they and the other followers who had watched the awful scene were a bit unsettled. It was not for them to know what their King had in mind, but the rumours were spreading about this human woman he had brought into the den and now that they had seen her in action, they were impressed. They certainly wouldn't be messing with her.

Once all the minions had been dismissed and they were alone, Rowena turned to her son. "Well, I must say I had my doubts, dearie, " she said, more than a little impressed herself, "but I must congratulate you."

He smiled back at his mother. That was the nicest thing she'd ever said to him. And she hadn't even called him Fergus. He would have to collect and save this warm moment and think of it in the future, after he'd killed her.

It did not get any better than this. He rose quickly and left the room before she could say or do something that would spoil the warm and fuzzy feeling.

Back in her room, Gail removed her bloody clothes and dropped them on the floor indifferently. A minion would be along to collect them eventually.

She walked into the adjacent bathroom that Crowley had magicked there as a gift to her and gazed at her nude body in the mirror. Not too much blood, it had mostly gotten on her dress, but she supposed she'd better take a shower and dress for dinner. She wondered what the chef had prepared for tonight. And she was definitely looking forward to that cocktail.

Gail showered and washed her hair, humming a tune she didn't recognize but probably should have. She could hardly remember anything about herself or her past life any more. At times this bothered her a bit. It wasn't natural, not to remember anything from the time you were born up till the present. But most of the time she felt...content. She supposed it was enough that she'd been reborn into a life of luxury and ease. Crowley doted on her and treated her like a precious diamond, always the courtly gentleman. Whatever she asked for, he was quick to provide. And he didn't ask much of her, just these little demonstrations of her powers from time to time. She kind of enjoyed seeing how far she could stretch them and had even impressed herself with her newfound abilities. She had always had the feeling that she was destined for greatness and it seemed that she was only now reaching her true potential.

As she dried her body and went to the closet for a robe, it briefly occurred to Gail to wonder where she'd been and what she'd been doing before she arrived here. Even the name "Gail" sounded funny to her. Was that really her name? Maybe she'd ask Crowley to suggest a new one, one that suited her better.

Strange; she vaguely remembered there had been a time when she hadn't cared for Crowley, as she did now, hadn't even liked him. She guessed she just hadn't known him well enough then. Having no recollection of their past history, she could only go by what she knew of him now. Sweet, soft-spoken, considerate to her every need. Recently, he had hinted that their relationship could go a lot further if that's what she wanted and she had been mulling it over. He was nice-looking and charming and she could do worse. Well, there was that Demon thing, but she had never seen that side of him and after enough daily injections, she had pretty much ceased to care. She had also ceased to wonder what was in the needle and rolled up her sleeve willingly for John now. She supposed it must be some sort of booster shot for her powers or something, as they continued to grow and improve after each daily shot.

Earlier today, Crowley had come to her room and administered the shot himself. Even when sticking her with a needle he was careful to be gentle and tender. When he was done, she had smiled at him and for a moment he almost told her everything. He wanted her to know that his blood was in her veins and that they shared this most intimate of bonds. But something still held him back. After she passed, if she passed, the final test he had in store for her tonight, he would reconsider. Hell, who was he kidding? He would offer himself up to her and hope she would reciprocate.

Gail donned a silk robe and walked back into the bathroom to dry her hair. There was still condensation on the mirror and she wiped it with her hand, looking at her face. There was a tiny spot of blood she'd missed by her ear, and by the time she bent down to splash water on her face, the mirror had fogged back up. She looked at it again, then peered closer. There was a shape there, an outline of a face - but it wasn't hers. It was a man, a handsome dark-haired man with stubble on his chin and piercing blue eyes. As the steam dissipated and his image became clearer, she could see his look of sorrow and anguish, and a single tear squeezed out of one eye and rolled slowly down his cheek. Who was he? She wheeled around but there was no one standing behind her, so she turned back to look at the mirror again. "Who are you?" she whispered, shaking. He did look familiar somehow...

Then Crowley opened her bedroom door and the man's image vanished.

Crowley came to her then, wrapping his arms around her. He went to kiss her on the mouth but at the last second she turned her head and he kissed her cheek instead. He felt a momentary flutter of annoyance but pushed it aside. Women liked to play hard to get, he reasoned, unless they were sluts. Gail was a quality woman; she would be worth the wait.

Gail received Crowley's embrace but her mind was suddenly jumbled, confused. Who was the man she had seen in the mirror and why had he been crying? Why would he suddenly appear to her that way? What did he want?

Crowley was caressing her back but his hands felt slimy, dirty, and she almost pushed him away. But a sudden and strong urge to read him struck her and so she moved in closer, absorbing what was in his mind.

Her head felt like it was about to explode and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. He was bursting with complex emotions. Proud of himself for how far she had come, feeling such great joy that she had crossed the line and broken the ultimate Commandment for him, all for him. He now knew she loved him back and he was going to make her his wife, the Queen of Hell, and raise her up above all others. He might even keep his mother alive until after the ritual; after all, a man should have family at his wedding. When he and Gail ruled side by side, every human who stood against them would be wiped from the face of the Earth. The Moose, the Squirrel and the Angel would be the first. Maybe he'd even let Gail have the honours; she'd earned it. Now he was glad he'd had the foresight to visit her and Frank's motel room and plant the business card for the pub Steve frequented. He had always been the one to think 5 steps ahead of everyone else; there was a reason he was King. He knew what would happen after that, knew that Gail would come back to him, courtesy of the brothers. He had feigned surprise at the time at the company she had been keeping, but hadn't he always known? He'd known that she was destined ultimately to be his, and that they and the Angel would deliver her to him. He couldn't wait to tell her that her former friends had stood by and allowed him to live for years, that they were responsible for her brother's death. She'd be willing and eager to kill them then. There was the sticky fact that he had ordered her parents killed, but now that she had enough Demon blood in her, he thought they could work around that without having to go through couples counselling. And Frank's death hadn't been his fault, really - his Demon minions had him softened up good and proper by the time Crowley had gotten there. But now that enough of Crowley's own blood was coursing through her veins and they were bonded so intimately, he was confident they could work things out. The human part of him dared to hope that theirs would be a long and loving marriage. Before too long, after Gail had murdered a few more times, he would kill her as tenderly as he could and when her soul went to Hell, they would choose a vessel for her and she would come back to him as a full Demon, immortal and ready to be with him for eternity. Too bad Dean had to die, though; Crowley had always had a bit of a soft spot for him. He'd like to find a way to spare him, as the rage induced by the Mark of Cain could have been quite useful in the bloodbath to come. Oh, well. Maybe Crowley would tell Dean how to remove the Mark before Gail killed him, just to see the look on his face...

Castiel sat still, staring at the wall. If he had been human, he would have put what he'd just heard down to wishful thinking, or a hallucination. But he was being sent a Vision, and he needed to sit up and pay attention, now.

A Voice told him to go to the fire that Sam had built in the living room fireplace. The brothers were out driving around aimlessly and he had been here alone, praying for a miracle. Being who and what he was, Castiel knew that real miracles did sometimes happen at Christmastime to deserving beings. I'm not asking for myself, it's Gail that's deserving of Your help. We need some divine intervention. Please.

When the Voice came he thought he'd heard it once before, but couldn't place it. Castiel immediately complied though, having a long history of obediently following orders, and he moved to sit down in front of the fire. As Castiel stared into the flames, a picture started to form.

Moments later, he realized he was looking into Crowley's den, and his dread mounted as he saw what was going on. And when he witnessed that final horrifying tableau, when he saw Gail looking at Crowley with that innocent child's blood dripping from her dress, Castiel broke.

He fell on his knees in front of the fire, crying, begging God for another chance to save Gail, to deliver her from this evil. Her face appeared in the fire then, seeming to be looking straight at him, eyes searching his. And just when he thought his prayers were about to be answered, the fire snuffed itself out and she was gone.

Sam and Dean came back a few minutes later and found Castiel still on the floor, praying, tears running silently down his face. In a role reversal, Sam strode to the cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey while Dean held Castiel until he regained his composure.

When Castiel told the brothers what he'd seen their faces paled and Sam poured them all generous shots of whiskey with shaking hands.

"Holy Christ," Dean breathed. He was shocked to the core. "What the hell do we do now?" His day of reckoning would come soon and he would have to deal, but in the meantime his fervour to rescue Gail was renewed.

"Sam's going to build another fire," Castiel said grimly. They had been given one small albeit gut-wrenching miracle tonight; he was convinced there would be others. He would wait by the fire and continue to pray, no matter how long it took. Even if what he saw ended up killing him. He owed her that much.

Gail's eyes widened as she held on to Crowley. She had read him and everything he had been thinking in a matter of seconds and though she didn't understand most of it, she now knew something was terribly wrong. She had been tricked and lied to, sold a bad bill of goods. She had no clue who these men were that Crowley had been thinking of and apparently wanted her to kill. As for his mother, Gail was not surprised; she'd seen them interact and theirs was clearly a complicated relationship. Though Rowena had always treated her sweetly, Gail could see her scorn for her son and was amazed he couldn't seem to see it himself. That he was planning to kill Rowena or these other men, or even herself, didn't concern Gail much in her current state. What did interest her was that he had been injecting her with his own Demon blood and, of even more interest, that he was part human himself. She could just bet that Mummy Dearest and his Demon minions didn't know about that interesting fact. Most of his thoughts were nonsensical to her, though, especially when he was thinking about having killed her family. Family? She had no family, she was alone in the world, always had been. And what was that raving about animals and an Angel?

But Gail had read enough to know that she was going to have to bail on this whole situation. She would have to be very careful, though. Both Crowley and Rowena were very sharp, with considerable powers of their own, and the place was crawling with Demons who were both scared and ambitious, a dangerous combination. Though she still didn't know who she was or what her story was supposed to be, Gail was determined to get out of here or die trying.

In the meantime, it was business as usual. She went to dinner with Crowley and Rowena and they laughed and drank wine. But Gail saw things differently now. Every time she used her knife to cut her meat she pictured the little boy's wounds and every time she raised her glass of wine to her lips it was his blood that she was drinking. What the hell had she allowed herself to become?

Crowley was fooled by her determination to act as if nothing had changed and when he took her hand she smiled at him and did not pull away.

"You're going to have to do without me for a couple of days," he told her. "I'll be away December 24th and 25th. But I'll bring you back a nice surprise when I return." She continued to smile at him. Yeah, like a dead mother-in-law and a knife in my ribs on our wedding night. Part of her was still attached to him, but she was out of here. Now that he was going away, perhaps she had her chance.

Tomorrow was December 23rd; she didn't have much time to come up with a plan. She excused herself from the dinner table, pleading fatigue from the exertion of using her powers earlier. Crowley sprang to his feet as she stood up, kissing her hand in a courtly manner.

Gail laid down on her bed, her mind spinning. It took her a long time to fall asleep and when she finally began to doze off, she had a half-baked plan.

She dreamt about a man with blue eyes, a man who was reaching out to her. She stretched her arms out to him but he seemed so far away. Who was he?

When she woke up, she was crying.

Gail took her time getting ready in the morning, putting her game face on. When she could stall no longer, she left her room for breakfast. Now that she had decided to leave, she was eager for the day to be over. She knew that Crowley was leaving to attend his precious Summit, and it should be easier to escape once he was gone. Not that it would be easy, but...without his constant vigilance, maybe she had a fighting chance.

Luckily, Crowley seemed preoccupied today, and after a quick meal and a kiss on the cheek, he left her and Rowena at the table. After another cup of coffee and some chit-chat with Rowena to keep up appearances, Gail excused herself and left the room, wandering around the den and covertly looking for a way out. She couldn't find a door, a window, anything. What was she going to do?

Rowena came to Gail's room late in the afternoon. She wanted to speak to her alone. Rowena had had a feeling since yesterday, an intuition. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but her years of witchery and manipulation of others had led her to trust her instincts.

She entered Gail's room on the pretext of helping her pick out an outfit for that night's dinner, a going-away party of sorts for Crowley and a celebration of, let's just say, the anti-Christmas to come.

"If I'm to be your mother-in-law, sweetie," she crooned, "I want to make sure you look like a princess."

As she stood with her back to Gail, sifting through the many clothes in Gail's closet, Rowena started to seethe inwardly. Fergus had never given her anything remotely as nice as the setup this girl had here. At first she had been all for the relationship between her son and this woman, thinking it would make Fergus weaker than he already was, distract him. And she had been right, but as Rowena had seen Gail's powers grow along with her son's devotion to Gail, her concern grew. She wasn't so much worried about Fergus, as she'd planned to have him killed at the conference, but this woman...she was a different matter. She could be a real threat. With her son and all the heavy-hitter Demons dead, Rowena was planning to assume the throne herself, of course. But she had seen the respect and deference shown to her son and now to Gail by the minions in their charge and she didn't much like it. She had considered killing Gail once her son left for the Summit but held back. She was a calculating woman and she coveted Gail's powers; she still thought Gail had a part to play in this, could be a valuable asset to her Queendom. She had been transfused with Demon blood after all, and Rowena had seen the awesome things that Gail could do. So she would let the girl live for now, but Rowena also thought it was best if Gail were gone for the time being, until such time as Rowena wished to reclaim her.

Gail also had a hinky feeling. Rowena had never dropped by her room before and Gail wasn't buying this simpering, let's be girly-girls and bond over dresses crap. She moved up beside Rowena and pretended to be going through the dresses with her, making feminine oohs and aahs, then put her hand on Rowena's arm, saying, "Thank you for being so nice-"

Rowena grabbed Gail's hand and flung it off her arm. "Don't try to read me, my girl," she said softly, her eyes narrowing. "I have my parlour tricks, too. As you were reading me, I was reading you. I know you don't love my son and I know you want to leave here. And I'm going to help you do it."

Gail stared at Rowena, disbelieving. Had she just heard right?

Just then, there was a light tap on the door, and Crowley entered. He seemed taken aback to find the two of them together, but then he smiled.

"I'm glad you're both here, I just came to say goodbye and I'll see you in a couple of days. Behave yourselves," he said teasingly. "Or don't. I don't care." They exchanged a glance that he missed in his eagerness to get to the Summit. He swept Gail into his arms and danced her around the room, high on life, on the verge of getting everything he had ever wanted. "So long, my love," he crooned in her ear. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," she replied, touching his face. She allowed him to kiss her deeply then, knowing it was the last time he'd ever touch her. It was a good thing he couldn't read her like his mother apparently could. That had been a shock.

Then after a jaunty salute to his mother, Crowley was gone.

Rowena turned to Gail. "He wasn't supposed to leave until tomorrow," she frowned. "This could be a test."

Gail felt panicked, wary. She didn't know what to think or who to trust right now. Trust? She was in a den of Demons, who was she kidding? God, what was she going to do? She had been heartened when Rowena had offered to help her, now she worried that she was being set up.

"There's nothing for it, we'll have to get dressed and go to the party," Rowena said firmly. She made to leave the room, then came back and patted Gail gently on the cheek. "Don't worry, my dear. Just one more night and you'll be free. After all, tomorrow is Christmas Eve!"

She slunk out of the room as Gail stared after her, astonished.

It was Christmas Eve Day, but there were no decorations, turkeys, or coloured lights in the bunker. Any joy the brothers might have felt was artificial and came out of a bottle. And Cas was nonresponsive, had only been sitting and staring at the fire for days.

As night fell and they could no longer stand it, Sam and Dean went out to a bar, leaving Cas to sit alone in silence. He continued to pray, but his constant vigil had received no result and his faith was waning.

He tried just once more. "Please, You have to help me, give me a sign," he murmured. "I'm losing it here." He fell on his knees in front of the fire. "I've served You faithfully for centuries. Yes, I rebelled and yes, I did lose my way. But I'll gladly take my punishment for my crimes if You help me to help Gail, now."

The fire flickered and danced with colour. Was it wishful thinking, or did a picture seem to be forming there? This was Christmas Eve, the most magical night of the year...Castiel stared harder, throwing his whole heart and soul into the belief that it was not too late, that there could still be an eleventh-hour miracle.

The picture in the fireplace gained clarity, and he could see a snowy street scene. A church came into focus; with a start, Castiel realized he recognized the place. This was the church he had run to several years ago, after he had found out that God was allowing the Apocalypse to happen and didn't seem to care. Castiel had entered the church seeking answers, appealing to God to appear to him, to explain why Castiel had been fighting all these years for a non-existent cause. What had been the point of it all? Silence. He cried out in anger and frustration, quoting the human-penned storybook: "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?" Dead air. Nothing. In a child's fit of rage, Castiel had waved his arms and sent the devotional candles flying through the air towards the altar and had exited the church, leaving it to burn.

But here it was now, restored, right before his eyes. What did it mean? Then, the Voice: "Come here, Castiel. Come to Me. Now."

The fire snuffed out and Castiel rose. He had received his miracle; though he had no idea what the significance was of what he had just seen, he would follow orders just one more time. He exited the bunker and began to walk through the snowy streets.

Crowley was gone and Rowena was in a hurry to rid herself of the girl so she could get to the Summit and carry out her plan.

She strode into Gail's room without bothering to knock. "Put on your sluttiest outfit," she snapped, all pretense now gone. "We haven't got much time."

Gail was startled, but rushed to comply. She had realized she would not be able to escape here on her own and if this was a trap, so be it. She still wanted to live, but realized she deserved to die for what she had done. May as well leave it up to Fate, or God, or whatever, to determine which.

There was a knock on the door and both women froze. Big John entered, carrying the daily shot. Crowley had provided him with several vials to be used in his absence, and though it had weakened him a bit to do so, he had been so high on adrenaline when he left, Crowley didn't think it a problem.

As John advanced on Gail, his broad back turned on Rowena, she withdrew the dagger she had hidden in her sleeve. "We'll have no more of that now," she said, and plunged the dagger into John's back, twisting it as he writhed and screamed. As Gail looked on in shock, the essence of John glowed out of his vessel until only a crumpled body remained.

Rowena looked down at it, saying, "Pity. He had his uses." She bent down to wipe the dagger on his clothes, then looked up at Gail and smiled. "Let's go, dear."

They moved quickly down the hall as Rowena whispered her plan to Gail. Once they reached the throne room door, Gail distracted the Demon guard by allowing him to run his hands all over her body as she murmured sweet nothings of assassination plots into his ear. Boy, would she need a good shower when all this was over. Rowena slipped into the throne room and opened the exit door with incantations, then used her dagger one more time on the hapless guard, who had visions of greatness dancing in his head and was oblivious to her presence. Gail followed Rowena to the door and turned back for a moment, her eyes searching Rowena's. "I don't know why you're doing this, but thank you."

Don't thank me, my dear, Rowena thought. Just go out there and enjoy yourself while ye may. We'll be seeing each other again, soon.

She simply said, "Go." Gail went.

Walking the snowy streets, freezing in her scanty clothes. Now that she was out in the world, where was she going to go? What should she do?

She needed to get inside somewhere, to sit down and think. She saw a dimly lit bar and entered it, looking around at the few pathetic souls staring into their drinks. No one looked up. Well, she was among kindred spirits, anyway.

Gail walked up to the bar, hiked herself up on a stool and ordered a drink. She didn't have any money but asked to run a tab and with one look at her, the bartender complied. Apparently she had powers of persuasion now too, or maybe just one look at her and how she was dressed had convinced the bartender she would be paying it off one way or another. She sighed and picked up her drink.

She heard Christmas songs behind the background of the bar chatter and realized it was Christmas Eve. Wow. No wonder a lot of people committed suicide around Christmastime. And really, what was to prevent her from doing the same?

Gail had a sudden and inexplicable urge for a cigarette. She asked the bartender to get her a pack and he quickly complied, but when she withdrew one and was about to light it, he shook his head at her. "Sorry, you can't do that in here. By-laws. I could lose my license."

Figures. She almost put the cigarette down, then shrugged. She was thinking about killing herself, what did a little cold matter?

So she picked up the cigarette and a pack of matches and went outside. As Gail lit up the cigarette and looked around her, a light snow began to fall and she noticed a church across the street. It looked dark and unoccupied. Didn't people go to Midnight Mass any more?

She saw a man walking up the street then, a lonely-looking figure crunching in the snow, head down. Another pathetic person probably, alone like her on Christmas Eve. Too bad. She wished she had his coat though, she was freezing her ass off. Time to go back inside. She tossed the cigarette aside, preparing to re-enter the bar, when she spared one last glance at the man.

He had stopped just outside the church and as he raised his head to look up at it, Gail saw with a shock that this was the man whose face had appeared in her mirror back at the den.

Who was he, and what did his appearance here mean? She had to know. She walked slowly across the street to where he stood and breathed, "You. It's you."

He turned his face to her, disbelieving. "Gail?"

How did he know her name?

His face lit up then, transformed into an expression of joy and wonder. Then, in a weird moment, he lifted his shining blue eyes to the sky and shouted, "Thank You, Father!"

Then he was embracing her and though this man was a stranger to her, she accepted his warmth and found herself wrapping her arms around him in return. The church bell began to ring suddenly, another miracle, as the church itself did not exist, had not existed since the year it had burned down to the ground. The sound was beautiful, and provided a perfect counterbalance to the sounds of Castiel and Gail weeping in each other's arms.

Crowley looked up from the conference table, struck by a sudden moment of foreboding: The Angel! he thought, panic coursing through his body.

"Well? What's this big news, then?" one of the Demon leaders said. All the others were looking at his expectantly.

Right. Business. Shaking his head to clear it, Crowley refocused on the agenda. He was sure it had been nothing. Just a side effect of too much blood loss, probably.

Rowena was sitting on the throne, trying it out for size. Tomorrow she would go to the Summit and lay waste to all the attendees, as she had to each and every Demon in this den once Gail had gone. The only one she had spared was the chef; she was looking forward to a sumptuous meal once she returned victorious from her mission.

As she stared at her mirror, it had cleared for a moment and shown her the sight of Gail and Castiel embracing under the falling snow. Aww, how sweet, a Christmas reunion. Enjoy your remaining time, my dear, Rowena thought. She almost felt sorry for them, this star-crossed duo. They had no idea what was about to befall them. No matter; let them have their little moment of happiness. Perhaps Gail would even give herself to the Angel as a Christmas present. Hadn't the poor guy done without long enough? Though disgustingly pure, he was obviously more of a man than her hapless son had ever been.

She waved the image away. All that Christmas sweetness was giving her a toothache.

Dean and Sam were sitting in the bar sipping their drinks glumly when Sam suddenly sat up straight. "Dean, we have to get back. Now."

Dean looked at him quizzically. There was a lull on the background noise at the bar as the jukebox shut off and they could hear the sounds of church bells outside in the distance. Their eyes widened as they looked at each other. Something was happening.

Dean grabbed his jacket. "Let's go."

Castiel stood back reluctantly from the embrace, his eyes searching Gail's face. His elation receded a bit as he realized the battle had just begun. She was here now physically, but he and the Winchesters would have to help her regain her soul.

He looked down at her. "You must be freezing." He removed his coat and put it around her shoulders. "Let's get you somewhere warm." He smiled. "I know a place with a fantastic fireplace."

Castiel touched Gail's forehead and they disappeared from the snowy street.


	7. Dream Weaver

Gail was lying on the couch in front of the fireplace. Castiel had tapped her once more to induce sleep and tenderly covered her with a blanket.

Sam and Dean had returned to the bunker just in time to see Castiel and Gail's appearance there. They rushed forward, eager to welcome her back, but Castiel held his hands up. "Easy, guys," he said, "she's been through a lot."

Gail looked at the two brothers quizzically. She didn't recognize them any more than she recognized Castiel. She looked around at her surroundings. Nice enough place, and she was grateful for the warmth of the fire after having been out in the cold in such scanty attire.

Dean, being Dean, had noticed how little Gail had on and after a moment's appreciation he averted his eyes. Yikes. It was like looking at a really hot girl and then realizing she was your sister. The Mark whispered otherwise, but he told it to shut up. He had enough problems without going there.

Sam gazed at Gail a bit more intently, not so much looking at her body [OK, maybe just one glance] as concerned with where her head was at. As someone who'd had all too much experience with ingesting Demon blood, he was uneasy. Yes, they had her back but from what Castiel now told him and Dean, she was not herself.

This fact was apparent when she had looked at him and Dean and had said, "Well, thanks for the warm-up, guys, but I think maybe I should be going."

As Gail's body had thawed, her mind was hard at work. Though she still had no place to go and no plan, she wasn't sure she should stay here. Where was here, and who were these guys? She was sharp, observant: She had noticed some weapons laying around, and the tall one was staring at her a little too intently for her liking. Had she left one den only to land in another? Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty in leaving Crowley's place, at least she knew what she was dealing with there.

Castiel could see Gail wrestling with herself and he needed to have a talk with Dean and Sam, so he had touched her forehead again to induce sleep and after tucking her in on the couch, motioned the brothers over to the table. "We need to talk."

Dean went to the mini-fridge to get beers but after a brief head shake from Cas, he reconsidered and put on some coffee instead. As he returned to the table, Cas put his hand in his coat pocket and withdrew a box. It was about the same size as a music box, with Enochian symbols carved into it.

He placed it on the table. "I need you to do something," Cas told the brothers. They looked at him questioningly. They were used to this from him; he was always making these cryptic requests and they had learned to be patient. Most of the time.

Suddenly, Cas produced a pen knife and before they could react, he slashed Dean's hand, Sam's, and then his own.

"Ow!" Sam yelled. "Cas, what the hell?" Dean shouted at the same time.

"Put your hands on it," Cas gestured to the box, placing his own bleeding hand there. Dean glared at Cas but did as he asked and after a moment's hesitation, Sam shrugged and followed suit.

Once all three hands were in place and their combined blood was absorbed, there was a bright blue flash which emanated from the lid of the box, and then it was over.

After a nod from Cas, the brothers removed their hands. "Just once," Dean said almost conversationally, wrapping his hand into one of the bandages they kept conveniently in a drawer at the coffee nook and throwing one to Sam, "I'd like to have a day where I don't bleed for some weird-ass crap."

Sam laughed, winding his bandage around his own hand. Cas hadn't needed one, of course; ever since Gail had restored his Grace he healed instantly from minor wounds. "Maybe that can be your Christmas wish," Sam said to Dean.

Cas smiled thinly at both of them. "I think your Christmas wishes could be better spent." They both looked at him, and he relented, "Though I admit I see your point."

He picked up the box gingerly and extended it to Dean. "Put this in the safest place you have." A pause. "Please."

Dean walked to the wall safe hidden behind a shelf of books and put the box in it, then returned to the table.

"What's in the box, Cas?" he demanded.

Cas stared at him calmly. "Gail's powers. All of them."

What? They looked at him with raised eyebrows, and when nothing more was forthcoming, Dean's temper rose. Surprisingly, maybe, Sam was the first to speak.

"I've had it with this enigmatic crap," he snapped. "How about you just tell us what the holy hell is going on?"

Cas sighed. "That's about the size of it." He looked at Dean. "Is that coffee ready yet? This will take a while."

As Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day, Crowley's sense of foreboding grew. He had initially put the feeling he had down to stress and overwork, but now he knew there was something more afoot. He tried to organize the Christmas Day agenda but ended up pacing back and forth in his room. Appropriately enough, visions of the Winchesters and the Angel were dancing in his head and he didn't much like it. An hour passed, then two, until he could stand it no more. How in the hell could Castiel have stolen Gail right out from under his nose? He had no powers any more, was just a pathetic shell in a meat suit, hardly a force to be reckoned with any more. Yet Crowley had become convinced that that was exactly what had happened. His bride-to-be was back in the clutches of the trio.

He sent word to the rest of the delegation, advising that something vital had come up and they would have to reschedule. Figures. He'd been on the cusp of his greatest triumph ever and now he had a rescue mission to perform. It was time to dispose of the Three Stooges once and for all and reclaim what was rightfully his.

Crowley, of course, had no idea that Castiel had been restored to his full Grace, and by his fiancee no less; otherwise, he would have taken his adversaries a lot more seriously.

Castiel confirmed Sam and Dean's suspicions: Gail had no idea who they were, where she was, and ultimately, no idea who she herself was. The regular injections of Demon blood she had been receiving had turned her into a different sort of person: more selfish, more vain, seemingly willing to exercise her powers to commit atrocities without a second thought.

Sam felt like he was going to throw up, but of the three, he was the one who could most readily understand. There had been a time when he had been under the influence of Demon blood himself, and had reveled in the powers that drinking it had given him. But he had gone there willingly, he thought with shame. Whatever she had become, Gail had been introduced to the not-so-wonderful world of Demon juice against her will and it wasn't her fault. Who would he be to judge her?

Dean was of two minds. Though still suffering from extreme guilt at having driven Gail out of the bunker, thereby exposing her to harm's way in the first place, the damage had been done. She had killed a human child, was more monster now than human. Shouldn't they just kill her now and be done with it? Even if Cas had some Angel dust up his sleeve, there was no way you could ever come back from something like that. He knew that only too well. They'd be doing her a favour. Yes, the Mark cooed to him, you would. And let's face it, you'd be rid of her once and for all. Who the hell needed one more doe-eyed innocent weakling to coddle and look after? He already had Sammy for that.

Cas was the most stoic of all three. The newfound faith and confidence that God had bestowed on him by way of the miracle showed him what needed to be done. He was back in full-on Angel mode and had been given his mission. God had given Gail her powers for a reason and even though they had been temporarily twisted and perverted by Crowley, they were to be protected at all costs and returned to her in their pristine condition once she had been saved. And if saving her wasn't possible, well...The human part of him he would always retain balked. No. God would not lead his most faithful servant along the path back to this woman that the human part of him loved only to force him to kill her. Would He? Castiel recalled something about Abraham and his son in the storybook, and something about Job, but those were just tales, fables written as cautionary tales for humans. Weren't they?

Back to the business at hand. Castiel told the brothers about the spell that protected the box containing Gail's powers, which he had siphoned from her as he had put her into the sleep state. As her appointed Guardians, blood from each of the three had been necessary to seal the box to protect it from any aspiring thieves and from Gail herself, and only the blood from all three could open it back up again.

"We will try for redemption of Gail's soul," Cas told them calmly, "but she can't be trusted with her powers now."

No kidding, Dean thought. Though he hadn't seen with his own eyes the acts Gail had performed in the den, Cas had described what had taken place there with an uncommon clarity. Even someone who bore the Mark of the original murderer would hesitate to tangle with someone with that kind of power.

Sam leaned forward. "How are we going to redeem Gail's soul?"

Crowley appeared back in the den and looked around him incredulously at all the bodies laying haphazardly on the floor. What had happened here? Damn, this had Winchesters written all over it.

He strode from room to room, his anger growing as the body count he was witnessing piled up. By the time he reached Gail's room and discovered that what he had feared all along was true, his temper had reached its apex. When he saw John's body on the floor of Gail's room with the unused syringe of his blood beside it, Crowley grabbed the body by the suit lapels and shouted at it incoherently.

Then he stood up and took a deep breath. Get a grip man, he told himself. The King rules, he doesn't throw temper tantrums. But how he dearly wished he had been here when the Winchesters and their lap dog had been killing his Head Minion. John had been his underling, but he had been very useful over the years and Crowley would miss him. But another part of Crowley briefly considered bringing John back from Hell just so he could punish him for having let them get the jump on him. Crowley sighed. You just couldn't get good help any more.

He wondered if his mother was still alive. Considering what he had seen around him he didn't know how she could be, though her powers were considerable. If not, the trio would actually have done him a favour and maybe he'd thank them before skinning them alive. If she was somehow still alive, maybe they could team up as a family to get Gail back and restore order. Either way, he was good, or would be.

Rowena sat at the dining room table, listening to Crowley approach. She would have to play this very carefully. She had been utterly shocked at his sudden reappearance, so shocked that she had not thought to vanish. But the delay had actually worked in her favour. It occurred to her that suddenly vanishing would be the worst form of self-incrimination and that no matter where she went, he would probably find her. So it was time to strap on a pair, as it were, and brazen her way through the situation. As she'd done many times before.

So when her son approached her, she fell at his feet, unfolding a tale of terror and described how Dean, Sam and Castiel had burst in and started the slaughter. She had run to Gail's room in an effort to hide her, but the Angel already had Gail. She had laughed then, knowing Castiel had no powers to stop her, but the two had disappeared in front of her eyes and by the time Rowena had staggered out of the room, the Demons were all dead and the Winchesters were gone. She had no idea why they had not killed her too, but it was damn lucky they hadn't. Now she and her son could work together to get Gail back and make sure those bastards would pay double for every Demon life they had taken.

Crowley hesitated a moment. Castiel and Gail had disappeared? How in the hell could that happen? The Angel was impotent. There had to be a traitor in their midst. He levelled a cool stare at his mother.

She delivered the coup de grace. "Oh, and they left our chef alive, too, and now he's conveniently gone."

Heartbeat. Was it enough?

The human side of Crowley reared its ugly head then, as it always did at the most inopportune times. Looking down at his weeping mother, prostrate at his feet. Wanting to believe her, wanting to believe that they were in this together and she was only looking after his best interests.

He lifted her up by her arms then and embraced her, seeking the comfort any boy would from his mother after he had lost his best and most favourite toy. She embraced him back, stroking his head, murmuring soothing words of support and encouragement. Never once calling him Fergus. But smiling all the while.

Gail lay very still on the couch, feigning sleep. She had been awake for a while now, long enough to hear about her powers having been removed and sealed away in that box. And the method which had to be employed to release them.

She was pissed off. She didn't know who or what this Cas guy thought he was, but what right did he have, reaching into her and ripping her powers out of her like that? She felt used, violated. Whatever Crowley had done to her, he had only ever gently asked of her what she had wanted to give. Where the hell did these guys get off, raping her and keeping her powers hostage like that? She was a prisoner by extension. True, there were no chains on her, only blankets, but damn if she was leaving here without her powers.

Though she still had no idea who or what Castiel was, he obviously had powers of his own and she would do well to be careful around him. The hug and the blankets were signs that he had a softer side; maybe she could use that against him. And it seemed like those other two guys followed his lead. If she could manipulate Castiel, maybe she could manipulate them too. Shame she didn't still have her intuitive power, she could just lay her hands on them and immediately determine their weak points. But the human part of her had always been keenly perceptive. She would just have to bide her time.

Crowley and Rowena sat in the throne room, brainstorming. The bunker's mirrors were still enchanted of course, so she turned on hers and they watched as the trio talked and Gail slept. Crowley seethed as the men talked about locking up Gail's powers and "saving her soul". From what? He truly cared for her and was trying to provide her with the best of everything. Just what exactly were they "saving" her for? Life as a lowly human, scratching and clawing for any crumbs thrown their way? Pain, blood and death? Suffering, having to watch anything and anyone they'd ever loved stomped to bits when he and his kind rode into town? These powers of Gail's were special indeed but they were not from God, could not have been. This God they all spoke about, if he even still existed and was as all-powerful as the fools all seemed to believe, would never have allowed Gail to use her powers the way she had in the den. So they could all just stick their holier-than-thou nonsense. These guys thought they held all the cards.

But there was still no way for him to get into the bunker, and they were certainly not going to fall for his mother's kitty trick again. She could only enter the bunker in animal form after Sam had carried her in, thereby inviting her. That was how the magic worked; the ancient rules still applied. He sighed. In this day and age of technology and scientific advances, a weasel clause that was as old as when time began was the roadblock that kept them from just marching up and knocking on the door. It was enough to drive you crazy.

But then he saw something in the mirror over the fireplace that gave him hope: He saw Gail wake up and intently listen to the men's conversation. And one more delicious observation. When Gail had opened her eyes, they had been completely black.

That's my girl, Crowley thought with a smile.

Several days passed. Gail spent her waking hours getting to know the men with whom she was living. She made opportunities to be alone with all of them in turn, asking each man probing questions about themselves and their lives, under the guise of getting reacquainted. While each man had been cautious, guarded at first, she had played the doe-eyed amnesiac card skillfully and they had begun to open up.

She had volunteered to help sort and catalogue books with Sam in the library and they chatted as they worked. Gail had noticed the dynamic between Sam and his brother and thought she could exploit it.

"Sam, you're so smart, I can't believe how much of the stuff in these books you actually already know," she complimented him, smiling.

He did not look at her but said, "Uh, thanks."

Time to ratchet it up a bit. "It must be tough sometimes, being the smartest one in the room whose voice is heard the least."

Sam paused in the act of replacing a book on the shelf. Cas had warned the brothers she might try to manipulate them, use them against each other. He smiled to himself. It was not like what she said was wrong or anything. He often did feel like that.

"It is," he said softly, replacing the book.

Seed planted, or so she thought, Gail moved away. Sam stood there for a while, absently running his hand over the book spines. Damn, she was good. In just one sentence, Gail had recognized his worst flaw and poked it in the soft underbelly. Sam and Dean had been through a lot over the years, to say the least, and through all the madness their fraternal bond had held firm, but...even though Sam had grown by leaps and bounds and was now a strong man and a capable Hunter in his own right, he still deferred to his big brother. Even though Dean wouldn't know his ass from an encyclopedia most days. And now that Castiel was hanging around so much, Sam often felt like he had been relegated to the role of third banana, errand boy to those two and whatever kind of "profound bond" existed between them.

Sam shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He stared after Gail; she was calmly writing down titles of books on a clipboard. Was Cas sure he'd gotten all her powers?

Gail felt Sam looking at her and gave him a brief, friendly smile, then turned back to her work. After another moment, Sam did the same.

It was Dean's turn. She found him in the bunker's garage, working on the Impala's engine.

"Hey, Dean," she said. "Don't mind me."

He glanced up at her for a moment, then returned to his work under the hood.

"Can we talk for a minute?" she appealed to Dean. He stopped what he was doing and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands.

"Sure," he responded.

With her natural perception heightened by the Demon blood in her veins, Gail knew how to get to him too. Demons had a way of cutting through layers of crap and the defenses of humans to get to the heart of the matter. But Demons were also blunt and crude. The human part of Gail knew this called for more finesse. She was also a bit leery of riling this guy up. She could see the angry-looking tattoo on his arm and she had overheard Sam and Castiel talking about "the Mark" when Dean wasn't around. Of course, she didn't know the significance of the thing, but could sense that it made Dean different from ordinary men. So she'd better walk between the raindrops here.

"Don't you think it's weird that I can't remember anything about myself?" she asked him. She also knew that Dean fancied himself a hero and had decided on the fly to pull out the damsel in distress card. "I thought by now I'd remember something. Anything. Especially you guys. Letting me stay here, talking to me about yourselves, trying to help me - " She paused. Should she risk tearing up? He was looking at her evenly, his expression open, but cool. Nah, probably not, that might be overdoing it. But she continued. "I just wanted to say thanks. I hope you guys don't give up on me. I'm really trying here." She gave him a tremulous smile. That would have to do.

"We won't give up on you, Gail," he said softly. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"Thanks, Dean. Well, I'll let you go back to it." And she was gone.

Dean stared after her, car forgotten for the moment. Just what the hell was that? He'd also had his guard up after Castiel's warning and had expected much more than this lame-ass attempt to appeal to the White Knight in him. What had she hoped to accomplish? True, he did feel some sympathy for her. He knew Gail really couldn't remember anything about her past. But was that such a bad thing? A part of him honestly felt jealous of her. With all the pain and loss Dean had experienced over the years, he thought the idea of just erasing all of that and starting with a clean slate had its appeal. But Cas seemed to think it was vital that Gail regain her memories and become herself again. Well, he couldn't argue with that last part. Having someone who was part Demon wandering around the place was unsettling and though he had hidden the weapons that were in plain sight, he kept his knife handy at all times.

A part of him still felt like they should just kill her and break this suspended animation they all seemed to be stuck in. Whay were they waiting for? They had no cure for her, except maybe to start re-injecting human blood into her veins to do battle with the Demon juice. He had suggested that, but Cas had inexplicably said no, arguing that that would make them just as bad as Crowley. Dean didn't see it that way, but had reluctantly deferred to Cas, at least for the moment. Cas seemed to think she was going to just snap back into herself one day. Well, maybe it was time for an Angel wake-up call. That was never going to happen, and the longer they allowed her to live here among them the more at risk they were. Dean had seen Gail looking at them all and he knew there was something brewing in that Demonish little brain of hers. The Mark was on low simmer at the moment but Dean didn't need it to tell him that if they waited much longer, someone in the bunker was going to die. And Dean was damn well sure it wasn't going to be him.

Castiel had indeed been hoping that Gail would just somehow return to herself. Reasoning that she was no longer receiving Crowley's injections, he had expected her human blood to regenerate and do battle with that artificially induced side of her personality.

He'd studied her as she'd ingratiated herself with the brothers, cooking meals, helping Sam in the library, joking around with Dean. She had been nothing but sweet and positive, professing a desire to regain her memory by asking questions about the men and about herself. Their co-existence had been nearly normal, life as it had been before Gail was taken from them. Except for that blip when they had been under the black cat's spell, which he had a theory about but had no proof, so he had kept silent.

But they had much bigger problems now. Even though he and Gail had not really interacted much one-on-one, which he suspected was by design on her part, Castiel knew that everything was far from fine. Gail was still part Demon, and he had been covertly observing her attempts to worm her way into the brothers' psyches. The results had been negligible, considering Dean and Sam's long years of experience with Demonic ways and his own warning, but still...

That night as he sat up in bed trying to decide what their next course of action should be, Castiel heard the door to his room open and Gail walked in. So, here it was; finally, he thought.

She closed the door behind her and then walked closer to him, her eyes searching his face. She had no tricks for him, no manipulations. She instinctively knew that nothing would disarm this man. Except maybe the truth.

"You don't trust me, do you?" she asked him softly.

He was surprised. He had played chess before, both in life and afterwards, and had always enjoyed the cerebral aspect of the game, the strategy. But he hadn't seen this move coming.

"You're right not to, you know," she continued. "I can feel the poison in me and I know it's wrong. Even though I still don't know who I am, I know that's not me."

She had appealed to the Angel in him. It was the only thing she could have done.

"We'll help you,: he said. "You just have to fight it."

"But that's just it," she said, approaching the bed and sitting beside him. "I can't. I've tried, but I can't." She took his hands. "Please help me, Castiel. I don't know what I'm doing here."

Oh, he knew what she was doing here. Seduction by innocence? Really? Did she think that was going to work?

He stared at her, saying nothing. She recalled seeing this face in her mirror when she'd been at her lowest, and the warmth of his Christmas Eve embrace. What was she doing here? Did she really think that she could manipulate this man, sway him in any way? Was she crazy?

But she was here and so was he, and so she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He did not respond but didn't pull away either. When she broke away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, she saw blue ice, but also compassion and sadness.

The human part of Castiel had felt something, of course. Not too long ago, Dean had asked him if he loved Gail and he'd said he didn't know. But that had been a lie, one of the many human traits he'd learned to adopt in order to get by on this planet. Of course he loved her and if this had been Gail in his room, he probably would have...No, not probably. He would have.

But this wasn't Gail, and they both knew it. So he sat up straighter and marshalled all the self-control he could exercise. "I think you'd better go back to your room," he told her.

Her face fell a bit but she did not look particularly surprised. "Yeah, I guess I'd better," she said sardonically. She glanced at him once more but his eyes pierced right through her and she knew it was no use. And a part of her was inexplicably glad.

Crowley had of course watched this little scene with great interest. When Gail walked out of Castiel's room, he sat back. He wasn't sure how he felt at the moment. He'd been enjoying watching his protegee in action, acting the innocent victim and toying with the brothers. He admired her skill and restraint, and her prudence in saving Castiel for last. Now that Castiel was human, Crowley had really thought he was going to succumb to Gail's advance, and was disappointed at the rejection. Oh well, once a prude, always a prude. But was Crowley actually disappointed? He wanted Gail to succeed in regaining her powers so she would be whole again when he got her back, but he also loved her in his own way, and had wanted to be her first as she embarked on her new life. And let's face it, a part of Crowley also feared he wouldn't measure up by comparison. As head Demon, he shouldn't be subject to jealousy; fidelity in that manner had never been high up on Hell's list of rules. In fact, many of its occupants' predilections included an astonishing array of sexual perversions. Practically a requirement for being a Demon, like having an invisible stamp on one's hand to gain admittance to an exclusive club. But Crowley was still glad Gail hadn't been able to crack the Angel's stoic facade. He wasn't above a threesome in the marriage bed, but Gail was his now, and he wanted first crack at her.

But he was growing impatient. He and Rowena had still not been able to figure out a way to enter the bunker and even though Gail was working from the inside, things weren't moving near quick enough. He had to accelerate the process, stir the pot.

Crowley picked up his cell phone and called Dean.

Dean picked up.

"You have something of mine," Crowley's voice, in his ear," and I'd like it back."

Dean laughed, incredulous. He'd been expecting this call. That it had taken this long only meant that Crowley had taken time to formulate a plan in that warped little noggin of his. Well, bring it on.

"I thought you'd picked up your bra and panties from the floor when you were her being our little bitch," Dean retorted.

Crowley smiled. Not bad. No wonder he loved his Squirrel. Wished he could have kept him in the family, for the sheer entertainment value. Crowley knew that at the moment, Dean held the better hand. Time to shuffle the deck.

"I also have something YOU want," he told Dean. "Time to arrange a deal."

Dean smirked. "As much as I know you'd like to kiss me, I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Crowley said casually, and hung up the phone. He knew Dean well enough by now to know that his cryptic statement would rattle around in Dean's pretty but nearly empty skull until it drove him nuts. What could Crowley possibly have that Dean would want?

"Time for lunch," he said jauntily to Rowena, who looked at him, a little impressed when Crowley told her what he was thinking. "I've hired a new chef, after we had to filet the last one."

She traipsed after him. Maybe her son had cojones after all.

Sure enough, Dean immediately sought out Sam and Castiel and pulled them into the kitchen on some pretext, leaving Gail in the library.

He told them about the odd exchange and they discussed what Crowley could possibly have meant. He had something they wanted? How in the hell did he think he was ever going to get Gail back, no matter what it was that he supposedly had? They had been locked up in these kinds of dances with him for years and had gotten to know him almost as well as he knew them. If he wasn't just straight bluffing, it must be a hell of a prize he had to offer.

Always the boy genius, Sam got there first. "It's the Mark. It's gotta be the Mark," he insisted. "He must know how to get rid of it. He knows it's the only thing we would want that badly."

Castiel and Dean had to agree. But what would lead Crowley to believe they would consider such a deal? Though Dean was desperate to rid himself of the Mark, he would never sell out Gail that way, and the others would never allow it even if he was so inclined. Was Crowley losing his mind, or just his touch?

Actually, Crowley was on top of his game. He knew that they would know that the proposal was beyond considering. He also knew that they would figure out what he was offering in return. He gave the boys a hard time, but he knew they hadn't lived this long by being stupid. Removal of the Mark from Dean's arm was the big Ace, the ultimate trump card he had. He also knew that there was no way they would ever make the trade. All he was looking for at this point was what any good salesman wanted, a foot in the door.

After the door had cracked open, all he had to do was walk on in.

Castiel put his finger to his lips and motioned to the brothers to continue talking. Due to their long association with him they just went with it as Cas disappeared from the room and reappeared in the hallway, where Gail had been listening. Two of his fingers to her forehead and she fell where she stood. This time he made sure she was in a deep sleep; she couldn't be allowed to hear what was coming next.

He reappeared in the kitchen and took his seat as if nothing had happened. When the brothers looked at him questioningly, he told them, "Gail was listening to our conversation out in the hallway, as I thought she would. So I had to give her the 'Vulcan sleep hold', as I believe you would call it."

He looked at Dean for confirmation and the brothers laughed. Cas was one in a million. Fortunately he was on their side.

Then Cas said grimly: "Dean, you're going to call Crowley back and invite him here to do the deal. It's time we ended this, once and for all."

In the instant before Castiel had sent her off to dreamland, Gail was astonished by what she'd heard. Crowley had called Dean? They knew each other, and that well? What the hell? While initially happy that Crowley was going to negotiate with these men to get her back, the familiarity with which they had spoken about him made her uneasy. She hated being out of the loop like this, especially since she was the lynchpin around which they all seemed to revolve. Just another case of the men smoking cigars and talking business while relegating the women to the kitchen to do the scut work. OK, in this case the men were actually in the kitchen, but the metaphor still stood. Maybe she should just chuck them all, even Crowley, and team up with Rowena. Once she had her powers back, she'd decide.

Then that blue-eyed guy had popped up in front of her, the bane of her existence, and sent her into unconsciousness.

Dean met Crowley on a park bench. They sized each other up, then sat companionably enough.

Dean's arm burned and he itched to bury his knife in that smug, fat face of Crowley's. But Castiel had outlined his plan, and for the moment they needed Crowley alive and needed him to accompany Dean back to the bunker. But Dean didn't know why he would. Dean certainly wouldn't, if the circumstances were reversed. On the Hunters' home turf, vastly outnumbered, with no hope of sealing the deal? Crowley was a lot of vile and disgusting things, but stupid was not one of them.

He was also full of surprises, a fact which he demonstrated now. "My place or yours, big boy?" Crowley said to Dean flirtatiously, mainly out of habit. "Yours, I think," he answered his own question, standing then and gesturing to Dean in an after-you pose. "Lead away, mate."

He was coming willingly, certain to know it was a trap. Now Dean was really on high alert. But the plan seemed foolproof, so Dean smiled at Crowley and said, "I even put the kiddie seat in the car for you."

Oh, you little...Crowley seethed, but kept his cool. They'd just see who was going to have the last laugh.

Sam sat, his body tensed and senses heightened, waiting. There was no way this was going to work. Cas was crazy.

When Castiel had unveiled his plan to them as Gail slept in the hallway, Sam had been impressed at the complexity and the cool intelligence of it all. There were times when Sam had to admit that Cas might be the smartest one of them all, even smarter than himself. But this plan of his also depended on a lot of risky assumptions and basic faith in what was right and what was fair, and after all that Sam had seen and experienced in his life he wasn't sure those were things you could count on any more. Cas was a puzzling amalgam of naivete and badass soldier all wrapped up in a human shell, and Sam would never understand him in the way that Dean seemed to. But he was their friend and they would follow his lead. Especially since he was the only one who seemed to have a handle on the situation.

Cas had a handle, but that was about all he had. His human nerves jangled as they sent Dean out on his mission. This whole thing hinged on faith and though his had been buoyed by the miracle at Christmas, the shine was wearing off as he had been waiting for a sign, some inkling that Gail was returning to her former, human self. Or even wanted to. But there had been none. It was time to force the issue. He just hoped he wouldn't get his friends and himself killed in the process.

Crowley and Dean entered the bunker. Having been here before as a prisoner and of course recently in spirit, so to speak, as a voyeur, Crowley did not bother to gauge his surroundings. He walked right over to the centre of the room where the table and chairs usually were by the library. The furniture had been cleared and in its place were two chairs only. One was empty and beside it was where Gail sat, chained to her chair, a Devil's trap etched in the floor beneath it.

She looked at Crowley in silent appeal. He turned at address the Winchesters and Castiel. "I hope you've been treating my fiancee well."

Sam took a step towards Crowley, but Castiel put a hand on his arm. Now was not the time.

Gail said to Crowley, "Are you here to rescue me?"

Rescue, Sam thought scornfully. It took all the restraint he had not to shake Castiel off and plug this guy six ways from Sunday. It felt like a stab to the heart to see Gail looking hopefully at this - thing, thinking it was what she wanted, the right way to go. This plan Cas had, it had better work. He didn't want to kill Gail but he might have to if it didn't.

Rowena had a front-row seat and she was enthralled by the show. She'd thought it was suicide when Fergus had told her of his plan, but based on what she'd seen from him lately, he might just pull this off.

Crowley's human feelings had bubbled to the surface when Gail had appealed to him for rescue and he rushed forward to be close to her. Curiously, there had been no Devil's trap under the second chair, he had made sure to check. So he felt safe enough to approach where she was but had done so impulsively, wanting to reassure her, tell her they'd get through this together and figure some way out.

He hadn't thought to look up. He saw the brothers' eyes turn towards the ceiling, where the Devil's trap was painted right above the second chair. Sam and Dean smiled. "Have a seat, 'mate'," Dean said sarcastically. "Looks like you'll be here a while."

If Rowena had had a remote, she would have thrown it at the mirror. Now she understood all those sports fanatics who yelled at their TVs when their team lost on a bad call. Unbelievable. Fergus had better hope for death at the trio's hands; that would be a far kinder fate than what would befall him if she ever got her hands on the pathetic little sorry excuse for a son she had squeezed out. What. An. Idiot.

But, like any diehard sports fan, she continued to watch. Still hoping for a ninth-inning rally, but now kind of rooting for the other team. If she could have the boys kill each other but somehow salvage Gail, she'd chalk this up as a win.

Left with little choice, Crowley sat. Sam and Dean moved forward then, chaining him to the chair.

"I can smell your cologne," he murmured to Sam. "Smells like...Eau de I'm Smarter Than Everyone Else In The Room."

Sam straightened up, startled. Recalling the conversation he'd had with Gail the other day. How the hell would Crowley know about that? Or was what he'd said just a wild coincidence? Then he remembered...

Crowley smiled at him thinly. Wishing he'd not been trapped so quickly, so neatly. He had the vials Rowena had given him in his pocket and was itching to deploy Cat Scratch Fever, Part 2 on the trio. That had been the plan all along; to infect Sam, Dean and Castiel with a double dose of the Sins and watch them turn on each other while he and Gail reclaimed her powers and made their getaway. There'd be no shortage of the blood they'd need to open the box once the games began. He would just have to bide his time, figure out how to free himself from this chair.

As Dean and Sam stood back, now Castiel moved forward, scrutinizing Crowley's face but saying nothing.

"What?" Crowley snapped, admittedly a little unnerved by the Angel's steady gaze.

"Nothing," Castiel replied evenly.

"We just thought since you're gonna be here a while, you and your 'fiancee' might want something to drink," Dean said casually, enjoying the moment. Crowley looked like he was going to pee himself. Good times.

"We wouldn't want to be bad hosts," Sam chimed in, grinning.

The brothers produced syringes then and each withdrew a vial of his own blood, handing the vials to Cas once they were finished.

Bollocks. They were going to inject him with human blood again, Crowley thought. How unoriginal. But he wondered how much more of it he could take before he turned into...well, them. Yuk. He'd rather they killed him right now.

Castiel withdrew his own syringe from his coat pocket. Crowley half-closed his eyes. Here it came.

Then suddenly, Sam and Dean moved over to Gail's chair and injected her with their blood, one shot in each arm, and Crowley's eyes widened. OK, he had not seen THAT coming. But it made sense. They were going to try to flush his essence out of her. Replace his Long Island Iced Tea with their Shirley Temples. Frankly, he was surprised they hadn't tried this sooner. Fight, my darling, fight, he thought.

Gail couldn't physically fight, of course, though she bucked and screamed when the needles went in. They'd tried to stick her gently, but Sam and Dean knew it wasn't pain that made her scream like that. It hurt to hear her curse them but there wasn't a day lately that pain wasn't on the menu, so they took it like men.

Once the brothers stepped back again, Crowley had regained his composure. "So what, I'm just supposed to sit here and watch my beloved turn back into Little Mary Sunshine?" he scoffed at the three.

"No," Castiel replied. "What kind of hosts would we be if we didn't offer you a cocktail as well?"

"It's been done," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "I've received numerous Shots of Sam and Doses of Dean in the past, as you know," he retorted, "and they have neither shrunk my most impressive equipment nor sissified my charming but masculine personality," Maybe not the smoothest insult he had ever crafted, but being in chains tended to hamper the creative process.

"Not theirs," Castiel responded, trying to maintain his cool but his mouth was twitching, giving the game away.

Oh, no. Bollocks, Crowley thought, as Castiel began rolling up his sleeve.

"Mine." Castiel jabbed himself with the needle and looked at Crowley, blue eyes sparkling.

What? Rowena thought. Plot twist. But what did it matter? The Angel had no powers any more, both she and her son knew that. So what were they trying to prove? Then her eyes widened. Castiel seemed so confident, so sure of himself. Could it be?

Crowley was thinking along the same lines as his mother, but he continued to be derisive in the absence of proof.

"And just what is that supposed to accomplish?" It was almost laughable. If he could keep the bile down. "Is it supposed to make me impotent, like you?" he taunted Cas, who was calmly filling several vials with his own blood. "You're nothing but an empty meat suit," Crowley continued, warming to his subject. "You're no longer an Angel, you're certainly not a human, you're...nothing. An empty shell. Am I supposed to be intimidated by you? You couldn't even get it up for my fiancee when she threw herself at you." He gave Gail a sidelong glance. "By the way, nice go, sweetheart," he said to her. "But do me a favour, and keep it in your pants until our wedding night. After that, have at it. In fact, I would even give this one to you-" he nodded towards Castiel, who looked up sharply "-as a wedding present. Not that he would have any idea what to do with you. But perhaps you could teach him a thing or two before we throw away the shell."

Castiel smiled then. "I almost feel pity for you," he told Crowley, approaching him. "I know there's a bit of human in you, mostly Demon of course," Castiel continued, preparing the shot, "but we thought you could benefit from a little Angel, as well."

As he administered the shot, Castiel bent down and whispered into Crowley's ear, "That's right. Before your mother bewitched our mirrors, you didn't get to see the first episode. The night your 'fiancee' arrived and cured me, restored me to full strength. I'm Angel 2.0, bitch, and I hope you can face your community after this." He jammed the needle deep into Crowley's vein and then stood back.

"I hope I said that right." He smiled again. "When you're 'impotent', you tend to get confused." Sometimes this job had its perks, and the gobsmacked expression on Crowley's face was one of the sweetest.

That was it, Rowena thought. Game over. The fans were leaving the stands in droves. She watched disgustedly as Castiel walked over to the mirror on the library wall. "Thanks for tuning in," he said sarcastically, waving his hand over the mirror's surface. The picture went blank. Castiel systematically walked through the bunker then, erasing Rowena's spell from every mirror in turn, until there was nothing.

God, she hated Angels.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, their faces breaking into grins. When Castiel told them what he knew back in the kitchen, they had been incredulous but didn't even ask how he knew. He was so positive, so filled with quiet confidence, that they just went with it. They now knew that they were going to win.

Castiel returned to where Crowley and Gail sat. Crowley was sweating bullets by now and Gail was worried. Also a little disappointed. He'd come swaggering in here and she thought he'd had a plan; now he'd been reduced to this quivering mess. Where have all the cowboys gone? she thought, recalling an old song she thought she'd liked.

Then Castiel touched hers and Crowley's foreheads at the same time and they were down for the count.

Cas looked at Sam and Dean. "Might as well grab a beer," he told them. "This might take a while."

The men left Crowley and Gail in dreamland for a while, making their preparations as per Castiel's plan. Then, when they were as ready as they were ever going to be, the three gave each other a nod and Castiel moved into position behind the chairs.

He waved his arms and the chains that bound the two disappeared. Sam swallowed hard and Dean took a deep breath. Then Castiel touched their foreheads and Crowley and Gail were conscious.

Crowley stood immediately; his first instinct was to flee. He knew he couldn't go anywhere as long as the trap was in place, but old habits died hard. He was halfway to the library shelves when he realized - he was no longer trapped. What the hell?

Gail stayed put for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium after having been unconscious. She had noticed how quickly Crowley had bolted from his chair and her eyes narrowed slightly. Was he just going to abandon her here, save his own hide? But then, she supposed that was what you could expect from his kind.

But then, Crowley looked at Gail and then looked down at the floor beneath her chair. "Seems we're free to go, my dear," he told her. She looked down and the Devil's trap under her chair was gone.

Crowley had addressed Gail in a light tone but he was wary, suspicious. He looked around wildly, but it appeared that he and Gail were the only ones in the room. How had he gotten free? He looked up at the ceiling above the chair he had occupied. Ah. The Devil's trap that had been there had mysteriously vanished, as well.

But why? Where were the Winchesters and the accursed Angel? If he had been surprised, and he had been, to find out that Castiel had regained his full power, and courtesy of Gail no less, Crowley was absolutely floored now. He prided himself on being one of the shrewdest gamesmen this or any world had ever seen, but what kind of gambit was this? Surely they would not be allowed to just leave?

Gail came over to where Crowley stood. She opened her arms to embrace him but he turned from her, preoccupied, his mind spinning. Her eyes flashed for a moment but Crowley didn't see it, so intent was he on trying to figure out the game.

"Let's go home, my sweet," he muttered. This was too weird. The longer he stayed here, the less he could think, it seemed.

"We need to get that box first," she said. Gail was also puzzled by the fact that they were apparently free to leave without interference, but she was sure as hell not going to leave here without her powers.

Crowley knew what she was talking about, having of course seen the sealing of the box containing Gail's powers in Rowena's mirror. He hesitated; he also wanted those powers, and wanted them badly. But how to get them?

Dean suddenly stepped out from behind a bookshelf, holding a knife in one hand and the box in the other.

"Looking for this?" he said jauntily. He considered tossing the box in the air and catching it a couple of times just to piss Crowley off more, but reconsidered. Based on the contents of the box, he'd better not fool around with it.

Gail stepped forward. "I believe that belongs to me," she said to Dean. Her voice was even, but she was quaking inside. Fear and anger were doing battle in her stomach.

Just then, Sam stepped out from the shadows and stood next to Dean. Oh, great. Were they supposed to fight the brothers? Her without her powers, and Crowley - what about him?

She looked sidelong at her supposed fiance. He looked a little spooked. This was the King of Hell? Surely he must have a trick or two up his sleeve.

Crowley extended his arms to knock each Winchester into next week, and...nothing. No juice. Bollocks. This had to be Castiel's doing. Where was he?

Sighing, Gail approached Dean and Sam where they stood. They did not yield, but did not advance, either. The brothers' grip tightened on their weapons but they held their ground.

"Please give me the box, Dean," Gail said to him, reasonably enough, "you have no right to keep what's in it."

"No right?" Sam said, his temper rising. "And I guess you have the right to use what's in it to decide who lives or dies?"

Crowley, who had been edging up cautiously behind Gail, stopped still. What did they know? And how could they possibly know what Gail had been doing with her powers? Had he been spied on? The irony of this was temporarily lost on him, of course, in his outrage. Bloody Angel. He was obviously behind this. And just where was he, anyway?

Perhaps it was time to bail on this messed-up situation, take stock and regroup. The Winchesters looked far too calm, and Castiel was who knows where, and Crowley's considerable powers had apparently taken a holiday. He tried to pop out of the bunker but of course, wasn't able to. Crowley sighed. So it was going to be like this, was it? Sam and Dean Winchester, Hunters extraordinaire, against a slip of a girl with no powers and a temporarily defused Demon King who hadn't had to do his own dirty work in who knew how long?

Sod it; there was nothing he could think of except to use the skill he had employed time and time again over the centuries - negotiation.

"Easy, boys," Crowley said to Sam and Dean, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender this time. "There's no reason this has to get...nasty. You have something we want, and I have something you want." He nodded towards Dean's arm, knowing the brothers knew what he was talking about. "Straight trade. Gail and the box, and I tell you how to remove the Mark."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. So there it was. This was something they wanted very badly, but there was no way they could let Crowley and Gail walk out of here with this box. They would just have to trust in the plan as Cas had laid it out and hope everything worked out.

Dean said, "Deal."

Sam looked at Dean. "What? Dean! You can't-"

"The hell I can't," Dean retorted, moving slowly towards where Crowley and Gail stood. Sam grabbed his arm, but Dean shook it off. "You know how long we've been looking for a way to get rid of it, Sammy, and you also know we've got squat. I'm taking the deal."

Dean stood in front of Crowley and rolled up his sleeve, careful to keep a grip on the box, using the hand that held the knife to bare the Mark. He looked up at Crowley. "Go."

Crowley threw his head back and laughed, regaining his footing. This was the Moose and the Squirrel he had been dancing with all these years; Sam, righteous and indignant, and maverick Dean, man of action.

"Dean, Dean," he chortled. "You know how this works. I have to have a show of good faith, at the very least."

He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, looking to Sam and then to Dean.

"Like what?" Sam asked, though he knew very well.

"OK, fine," Dean snapped, somewhat uncharacteristically the one to get there first, it seemed. He handed the box carefully to Sam and made to cut his palm with the knife.

"Wait!" Crowley said sharply, and Dean stopped, looking at him inquiringly.

"I think," Crowley said in a casual tone, "my fiancee ought to do it. But one last kiss, just in case..."

He pulled Gail close to him then and whispered to her, "Take the vials out of my pants pocket. Make it look convincing," then kissed her deeply as she reached into his pockets where Rowena's vials lay. She withdrew them and transferred them to her own front pockets under the guise of groping him. "In the open wounds, sweetheart," he instructed. Then: "Easy, darling," he murmured, breaking the kiss, "save something for our wedding night."

They looked into each other's eyes and she instinctively understood what he wanted her to do. Gail walked over to Dean and he handed her his knife, which she used to slash his palm, then she did the same to Sam. Then she withdrew the vials from her pants pockets and opened them, splashing the contents on the brothers' open wounds, all in one motion.

Dean and Sam jumped back, but the damage was already done. "What the hell was that?" Dean gasped in surprise, shaking his hand instinctively, drops of blood flying.

"Never mind, just Gail's idea of a joke," Crowley said dismissively, trying to move this thing along before things got weird again and the brothers had too much time to think. "Two down, one to go. Where's-" the name stuck in his throat "-your little Angel friend?"

"Right here," Castiel said from behind him. Crowley and Gail wheeled around. Castiel was sitting in the chair in which Crowley had been imprisoned. He held his hands out, palms open.

Crowley was tempted to take the knife from Gail and do it himself but was honestly a little afraid, though he would sooner die than admit this to anyone. So he covered by saying softly, "Go for it, darling." He gestured for Gail to proceed.

She walked up to Castiel, the knife dripping with Sam and Dean's blood. All she had to do was slice it across Castiel's open palm and the triad necessary to open the box would be complete.

He sat calmly, palms open, extending them to her. She regarded them, then looked at his face, then back and forth a couple more times.

"You know what the right thing is to do," he remarked calmly, "don't you?"

Yes, she did, Gail thought. The right thing to do was...extending the knife over his palm, hand shaking, looking at his face again...

She couldn't do it. She didn't know why, but she couldn't do it. One step away from getting her powers back and she was frozen. What did he mean about the right thing to do? Getting her powers back was the right thing to do...wasn't it? Helping people...no, hurting people, no...What? What was she doing?

Crowley was wondering the same thing; what WAS she doing? What was she waiting for? He strode over to the pair, anxious to get the show on the road before the momentum shifted.

One last try. He really wanted Gail to slash Castiel, prove that she was still his. "Go ahead, sweetheart," he prodded, teeth starting to clench.

"I - I can't," she breathed. Agonizing.

With a quick glance at the Winchesters, who had somewhat inexplicably remained where they were, Crowley snatched the knife out of Gail's hand impatiently. One double dose of Winchester blood and his bride-to-be was already wavering. He would have to make sure to up her dosage once they got back home.

Crowley faced Castiel with the knife and slashed him across one palm, withdrawing the last vial from his pants pocket, uncorking it and throwing the contents into the open wound he had just created.

The fact that none of the trio had tried to fight back should have raised a red flag, but Crowley was on a high, thinking they were so close now. All three had been infected by his mother's spell and all he and Gail had to do was open the box and run on out of here, leaving the men to fall upon each other, and...

Castiel looked down at his bleeding hand and then, while Crowley was woolgathering, reached his other hand up to Crowley's forehead, and - Goodnight, sweet prince. Crowley fell to the floor, unconscious.

Gail was transfixed. She looked at Crowley down on the ground, then up at Sam and Dean, who were now advancing slowly, then at Castiel, sitting there still, his blood dripping on the floor. Their eyes met for a moment and he said, "Time to decide who you REALLY are."

Sam held out the box to her once he and Dean reached where she and Castiel were. "Your decision," he said grimly.

Gail searched the faces of the three men, looked at the box, then looked at their bleeding palms.

"Castiel...please...help me," she pleaded. His faith in her verified, he touched her forehead then, and she slept.

As they were chaining Crowley and Gail back into their chairs and repainting the Devil's traps, Sam, Dean and Castiel talked.

"Way to go, Cas," Dean remarked. "You called it, all the way down the line."

Castiel smiled back, but inside his stomach was fluttering. Everything had played out as he'd hoped, but he was immensely relieved. Setting Crowley and Gail free and hoping she'd make the right choice when push came to shove had been risky, he knew. But his faith had been justified when she'd faltered, and then appealed to him when given the chance to regain her powers all on her own. Knowing that Crowley's blood was part human, Castiel had gambled that despite what he'd seen in his Vision before Christmas, the mix of Gail's own blood, added with Sam and Dean's, would be enough to tip the scales.

But, to paraphrase, trust in God but lock your house before you leave. As Sam and Dean had erased the Devil's traps in preparation for Crowley and Gail's reawakening, Crowley had reached into Crowley's pants pockets and replaced the vials of Rowena's poison with the vials of his own blood that he had withdrawn earlier. So when Gail, and then Crowley, had splashed what they thought was the bad stuff into the men's open wounds, what they had really been doing was, well...nothing at all.

But the job was not yet done. Though Gail had shown a sign of progress, they could not hang their hats on a momentary lapse.

When the traps and the chains were back in place, Castiel revived Crowley momentarily, to drive the point home.

"You will lose," Castiel said grimly. "And when you do, once you perform your acts of atonement, we will send you back to Hell with Angel blood in your veins. And they will tear you to pieces."

Gail continued to sleep, and the dreams began. At least, she thought they were dreams; they were so realistic, who could tell? Was it her future she was seeing now?

Gail awoke in a King-sized bed. She stretched and luxuriated in the satin sheets, deciding to lay in a bit longer. She was drowsy, disoriented.

The door to the bedroom opened and in walked Crowley. They must have made their way back home, Gail thought. She didn't remember how, but obviously everything had worked out.

Crowley approached her in the bed and she sat up to greet him. Everything would be OK now.

He sat down on the bed beside her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Rise and shine, sweetheart," he said tenderly. "We have business to attend to."

She rose from the bed and dressed as he looked on appreciatively. Their rigours in this room the night before had left him both weak at the knees and fulfilled, happy at last that he had someone by his side, someone truly loyal to him. He had been planning to wait a couple of nights more until his years and years of unfortunate sexual abstinence had been sated, but he felt such affection towards her now that he couldn't wait any longer. They had to truly consummate their marriage.

Crowley withdrew the dagger from his pocket and walked over to her. "This will only sting for a moment," he whispered tenderly in Gail's ear, then plunged the knife into her heart.

Blackness then, confusion as she fell to the floor, bleeding out. She thought he loved her. What had he done?

Suddenly, she was waiting in a long line with a number in her hand, a little piece of paper like you'd get in a bakery. She looked at it. Number 00001.

A man approached her then, a tall, fussy-looking man in a dark suit. He asked to look at her number and when he saw it his face turned even whiter than it already was.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," he stammered. "You should never have had to wait in line with these-" he gestured to the other people in the line "-minions."

The minions didn't spare him a glance, as though recognizing their station.

"Come with me," the man said to her, putting his hand on her arm but then removing it as if the touch burned. He bowed his head. "Please."

She followed him to the head of the line until they reached the velvet rope and beyond it, a set of red double doors.

"Please," the man said to Gail, "go right on in." He straightened his tie and then bowed, on his smarmiest and best behaviour. Maybe the Boss would hear about how graciously he had treated his wife.

Gail looked at the entrance doors, hesitating. Did she really want to see what was behind them? Didn't she already know?

Having no other choice, she trudged forward and opened the doors into Hell.

Crowley flipped over the calendar page to the New Year. 2115, already. Time flies.

Marked on the square for January 10th was a single word: "Gail."

He was feeling sentimental, though. It was New Year's Day, a day of new beginnings. He and his fellow Demons had run roughshod over the Earth for the past century and frankly, he was growing bored. Besides, he hadn't had sex for the past 100 years and it was starting to get on his nerves. With his mother long in her grave, since the day after his and Gail's return, Crowley was lonely and in need of a partner in crime. Besides, he loved Gail, didn't he? Once he brought her back from Hell and restored her powers to her, she would be happy to be back by his side.

He popped down to see her. Gail was toiling on an assembly line, putting 6 parts this, 6 parts that into a bag and stapling them, dropping the bags into a box that never seemed to fill no matter how many hours she spent on the job.

She wiped sweat away from her forehead as Crowley appeared in front of her.

"Hello, darling," he said, head inclining towards the box at the end of the assembly line. "Productive day?"

She glared at him. One hundred years' worth of this same crap, day after day, and he shows up now.

She smirked at him. She wouldn't give her husband the satisfaction of seeing her torment. But...one hundred years?!

"No more than any other," she retorted.

He looked at her with a certain tenderness then. Crowley had been missing a strong female figure in his life, someone who could be the yin to his yang, give him a bit of a hard time when he was feeling a little too full of himself. Ever since he had knifed Rowena in the back, he had been missing a foil, and things had been too easy for him. How dull.

"How about you come back with me, then?" Crowley said, extending his hand.

Gail hesitated. Most people, OK, anyone, would jump at the chance to get out of this place. But was what he was offering really any better?

"Come on, darling," Crowley wheedled.

She continued to look at him with a withering gaze. Silence. Crowley broke first.

"Look, I know you've been here a little while-" he started, but Gail interrupted.

"A hundred years!" she exclaimed. "One hundred years I've been doing this, with no sign of you! Where the hell have you been? And yes, I recognize the irony of what I just said!"

He stared at her for a moment. Then his face broke into a smile. He had chosen well.

"I needed to stash you somewhere safe while we took over the Earth," Crowley said charmingly, taking her hand. She did not pull away, but her grip tightened.

"For a hundred years?" she said skeptically.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. Hadn't she already said that several times?

"It took a while!" he raised his voice to her, unable to help himself. "You're lucky to have been placed here! One word from me or you would have been on the torture rack, or worse! This is Hell, if you hadn't noticed! What did you expect?"

She looked at him, seeing a glimpse of the monster within. "But - for a hundred years?" She harped at the point, not being able to let go of it.

Now she was giving him a migraine. Did he even want her back? One last try to make her understand, make her realize who was Boss and what the point had been of this whole thing.

"Let's get one thing straight, dearie," he said to her through gritted teeth. "I am the King of all you see before you and you are my wife, and you will mind me." Too bad his mother was dead, she would have loved to see him now. He grabbed Gail's arm tightly. "I was merciful to assign you here, but you needed a little time to sort out your priorities. I noticed your hesitation that day in the bunker and I noticed the dewy-eyed way you looked at the Angel." After all these years, even after Crowley had skinned and quartered the Winchesters and their Angel friend, he still could not say the name. "Well, they're long dead and we only have each other now. So what's it going to be?"

Gail looked around, then looked at his hand. She took it.

Back on Earth, looking around at the fire and destruction. All of the art, the books, the old buildings destroyed. Not to mention most of humanity, of course. Gail surveyed it all, the pain almost too much to bear. If she was dead inside, which she surely must be by now, why did it still hurt so much? And Sam, Dean, and even Castiel gone, scattered to the winds. Were they in Heaven? Or Hell? Did it matter at this point?

She turned to Crowley, who was smiling proudly. "Send me back," she pleaded, as his face fell. "Please, I want to go back..."

Castiel brought Gail back from the dream and looked down at her with compassion. She was weeping. But Castiel was relentless; he had to be now.

"Again," he said, and Sam and Dean withdrew another vial of blood from their veins and injected Gail once more in each of her arms.

Crowley looked at Castiel warily, expectantly, but Castiel scoffed at him. "I don't think so," he said. "A little Angel goes a long way." Dean gave him the thumbs-up. Nice turn of phrase.

"I'm sorry, but this is necessary," Castiel said to Gail, firmly but not unkindly, then touched her forehead and she was unconscious yet again.

This time, Gail was dreaming that she was in this same bunker, though the scene was quite different. She and Sam were in the kitchen making breakfast together, moving smoothly as a team. Toast, eggs, bacon, pancakes, the whole nine. Cas and Dean were elsewhere and it was just the two of them. Kindred spirits. Cracking jokes, dancing to the music on the radio, just like that movie. She was happy. She was home.

Then a sudden sadness enveloped her as she was buttering the toast. Sam called for Dean and Cas that breakfast was on the table and as they entered the room and she turned around, she could see their skin falling off them in pieces. She closed her eyes and reopened them.

Suddenly, she was in the basement of another house, looking at a man lying on the floor in a cage. Why did this place seem familiar to her? She looked around her to see Castiel, Dean and Sam staring at her, anguish in their eyes.

She moved forward to where the man in the cage lay and gingerly rolled him over, looking at his face intently.

"Frank?" she whispered.

Different house. Gail was sitting at a kitchen table, looking at a teenage boy and a blonde woman carrying a knife. Was the woman going to kill her?

Then the woman moved to the table and Gail saw with relief that there was a cake sitting on it. The blonde woman sliced the cake with the knife she'd been holding in her hand and said in a singsong voice, "Birthday Boy gets the first piece."

Suddenly, a male voice from the other room: "Screw you, Crowley! Don't you EVER threaten my family!"

Then, darkness.

Gail felt so small, so scared. She was in an enclosed space with the boy, clutching a stuffed animal. The boy was hugging her and whispering to her, comforting her but warning her to stay quiet, not make a sound. She could hear thumping and screaming overhead but obediently stayed silent. Her brother would protect her.

Then Gail found herself crouched over a man, putting her hands on his bleeding chest. Why wouldn't he wake up? Why wasn't it working? Then she moved over to the place where the blonde woman lay, the woman she'd seen slicing a piece of cake for her brother. Finding her in the same state, anguished, knowing nothing could help them. Looking up at her brother, who was silently crying. Were these people her parents?

Crowley...Crowley...the name was echoing in Gail's mind as she awoke.

Castiel removed his hand from Gail's forehead. He could see that she had been about to come to anyway, but he wanted to spare her any more pain for the time being.

As Crowley sat, fuming, wondering what the hell the Angel was trying to pull now, Castiel barked to Sam and Dean. "Again." They glanced at each other, hesitating. Gail was sobbing openly now. Wasn't that enough?

"Again," Castiel repeated, firmly enough, though his voice broke a little on the second syllable.

Well, they'd gone along with him this far, and he'd been right every step of the way. The brothers took another vial each of blood from themselves and moved forward to inject Gail once more. As the Winchesters' blood entered her veins, Gail looked at them both and murmured, "Thank you."

And with that, Crowley knew he had lost.

Castiel kept Gail awake this time, watching, waiting. And after a while of tense silence, she looked at him and said, "I remember."

Sam and Dean broke into grins, relieved.

"I remember everything," Gail continued. "Frank, my parents, you guys..." She looked at Dean and Sam. "Everything." A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her voice broke then, and she continued to cry silently.

Castiel said, "Again." But Sam had had enough. He moved forward, grabbing Castiel's arm. "No. It's enough," he insisted.

Castiel levelled him with a gaze that would have made most people wither, but Sam stood his ground. "Dean?" Castiel asked after a moment.

The Mark's influence took a back seat as Dean's heart broke a little more. Seeing Gail break down like that had cut to the quick.

"Sam's right," Dean confirmed in a gruff voice. "Enough."

Gail continued to weep. She had indeed shaken off the last of the Demonic influence and returned to herself. All of her memories had come flooding back, including what she had done in the Demon's den and the dream?premonition? of what would occur if she followed along the same path.

She hung her head in shame. How in the hell could she live with herself? The answer was simple: she couldn't.

Gail looked up at Castiel, then sideways at Crowley with a look of horror. "What did you do to me?" she demanded of him. "You killed my parents, you killed my brother, and then you came for me, tried to make me into-" She was temporarily at a loss for words. "Why me?" she continued, pleading with him, looking for the answer all humans seek when someone dies young or cancer invades their body.

He looked back at her and said with a surprising tenderness, "Because I loved you."

Castiel's human blood boiled in him at that moment and he slapped Crowley, hard. Crowley's head rocked back, and he tasted blood. "Believe it or not, it's true," he said aloud, to the room in general but mostly to himself.

Gail looked up at Castiel then and said, "Please kill me, Castiel."

He turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. But she knew he understood. She had killed a child in the Demon's den. How could she be allowed to live?

"I wish you had never brought me back," Gail continued. "I would have been better off staying in Hell."

"But you were never in Hell, Gail, that was just a dream," Castiel said, seeking to reassure her.

"Fine. But it doesn't matter, that's where I'll end up!" Gail cried.

He had no answer for her. Technically, she was right. She had killed a human child. They had brought her back from the abyss, but what about the long-term consequences? Admittedly, he had not thought that far ahead, uncharacteristic for him. In his fervour to save her from Crowley and bring her back to herself, he had somehow lost the heart of the matter, the gist of the whole thing: whether she'd been under the influence of Crowley's blood or not, she HAD killed a human child. The rules said that meant Hell, and even Castiel's considerable pull could not contradict that.

So what had been the point? he suddenly realized. To buy her a few more years on this Earth, only to wind up in Crowley's dominion just the same? He looked at her sadly and raised his knife, considering. Perhaps she was right.

Dean rushed forward then and grabbed Castiel's arm. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Cas. "You can't be considering - well, what it looks like you're considering."

Cas stood down, as he only would have for Dean. "She's right, Dean," he explained. "You know what she's done. You of all people should know what lies ahead for her. Sam, too."

"It doesn't matter right now," Sam said, rushing forward. "What matters is who she is now. The rest...we'll worry about later."

Castiel thought a moment, then decided that the brothers were right. That was enough. For now. Then he turned towards Crowley, raising his blade again. "Well, at least there's one abomination we can send back to Hell today."

Gail cringed inwardly at what Castiel had said, but shouted, "No!"

The three men turned towards her, startled. Did she still have some residual feelings for Crowley? Had the cure fully worked?

"He seems to be the only one who knows how to remove the Mark from you, Dean," Gail said. "As much as I'd like to kill the scumbag myself, we should maybe take that into consideration."

Sam broke into a smile; he couldn't help himself. That sounded like the Gail he knew. Smart.

"She's right," he said.

Castiel and Dean looked at Crowley, considering.

Crowley saw this as an opportunity to cut his losses and escape with his life. He had to admit, now that he had lost Gail and her powers, and though his regret ran deep on several levels, he had lost to the Winchesters and even to Castiel before and had always bounced back.

So he looked at the men and said, "We'll meet again soon, gentlemen," and looked at Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

Sighing, thinking he should know better by now, Castiel released Crowley from the trap and gave him back his power. Crowley promptly disappeared from the bunker.

But all the men cared about at the moment was that they had Gail back. They released her from her chains and once she stepped away from her chair and crossed the Devil's trap easily, her comeback was confirmed.

Dean picked up the box with her powers in it and extended it to her. "You can have this back if you want."

She looked at him and felt a rush of affection. She walked up to him, took his face in her hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek, just like she used to do on occasion to her brother Frank, she remembered with a stab.

"No thanks," she said to him. "I think I'm better off without...all that."

She turned from Dean then and said, "I think I'll go to my room. I'm feeling really tired all of a sudden."

Gail walked by Sam, then paused and put her hand on his cheek. "Thank you, Sam," she said sincerely.

Then she went to Castiel but suddenly found herself mute, floundering for words.

He took her hand and simply said, "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."

She nodded and went to the room she had occupied before, when things had been different. When she had been different. Before she had become a murderer. She was exhausted. She would have to contemplate suicide in the morning.

Castiel looked after Gail as she left the room. He continued to look in that direction long after she was gone from his view.


	8. Sympathy For The Devil

It was quiet in the bunker the next morning. Physically and emotionally drained, the three humans had slept in. Sam and Dean had the best sleep they'd had in months. No dreams and no torment for a change. It was a blessing.

The same could not be said for Gail. Though she had slept deeply, the dreams she had had while chained to the chair replayed themselves in her head. And just to add to the fun, she also dreamed about her time in the Demon den, always culminating with the young boy's murder at her hands. As Dean would say: Good times.

As she tossed and turned, agonizing, Castiel entered her room quietly. He drew up a chair and sat at her bedside, watching her sleep. With one touch to the forehead he could have rid her of her nightmares, but in a peculiar combination of compassion and ruthlessness he did nothing. Another hour passed, then two, and he continued his vigil. Like sweating out a hangover, she needed to get the poison out of her system. But as the third hour began, Castiel's compassion took over and he put his hand on her forehead. The nightmares ceased immediately and Gail rested easily then.

Castiel gave her a sad smile and rose to leave. But he scoured the room before he did, removing anything he thought Gail could use to harm herself. Just in case.

Things were not nearly so peaceful back in Crowley's lair. The only consolation he had was that since his mother had missed most of the show, he could spin any tale he wanted. So he told her a beaut: all about how he had taken on the three men single-handedly and almost won until the Angel had cast him out, afraid that Crowley had the upper hand.

Rowena listened patiently, oohing and aahing in all the right places. "You tried your best, dearie," she said soothingly, patting his cheek. "We'll just come up with another plan. Now go get some rest. You must be exhausted."

He left her room and she sat down on her bed, grateful for the chance to unleash the massive eye-roll she'd been holding back. Her son the hero, fighting two Hunters and an Angel to rescue the woman he loved. All that was missing was Errol Flynn and maybe a couple of pirates. Who did he think he was fooling with that crap? He had returned empty-handed, no Gail and no powers of hers either, with his tail between his legs. Her opinion of him had reached a new low. And that was saying a lot.

He had also come back a slightly changed man. As Crowley closed the door to his room, he did something he had not done in centuries: sat down on his bed and wept bitter tears.

In the next few days, life in the bunker went on, as life usually does. The four occupants moved around the place, going through the motions of normalcy. Sam and Dean walked around Gail on eggshells, and though she tried her best to be okay around them, she couldn't look at their faces. She couldn't bear to see the pity there. She didn't deserve it. Even though she was herself now, Gail had for a time become one of the monsters they made a career out of killing. How they could ever speak to her or co-exist with her was beyond Gail.

And as for Castiel...she couldn't even bear to be in the same room with him. Every time she even looked in his direction, she had to quickly avert her eyes. The goodness in him seemed to radiate such a bright light that it hurt just to be around him. It was his forgiveness that she wanted the most. But even though that was sort of in his job description and he would have offered it if she'd asked, she did not ask. How could she?

When she could no longer stand it, Gail took matters into her own hands. She sought out each man individually to talk to him one more time. To say goodbye.

Rowena, shrewd as ever, had more insight as to how Gail must be feeling now than her son; though he had supposedly loved Gail, he had never understood her.

Unencumbered with feelings of guilt herself, Rowena nonetheless understood that Gail would be overwhelmed with it. And that type of guilt could be turned into a weapon.

"She'll come back to us," Rowena reassured Crowley, patting his hand. Since he'd returned from the aborted rescue mission, her son had seemed to need more reassurance. So would she, Rowena supposed, if she had blown it so badly. Not that that would ever have happened, of course. But like any other mother, she had to clean up her child's mess.

Crowley looked at his mother and actually took her hand in his, holding it without any apparent irony or sarcasm. Now, THAT was strange behaviour. He must have really gone through a lot in that bunker.

If she only knew. Imagine Rowena's surprise if she were to find out that Crowley had Angel blood running through his veins. He was a unique hybrid of Demon, human and Angel now, and he would never be the same.

Gail sought out Sam first. He was such a sweet man, intelligent as all get-out, tough but vulnerable. He and his relationship with Dean had reminded her of herself and her relationship with Frank in so many ways. If things had been different she and Sam could have been like brother and sister. She could have helped him do research, cook meals; they could have ganged up on Dean and forced him to expand his musical tastes, laughing all the while.

"I just wanted to thank you again for all your help," she said to Sam.

He looked at her with a warm and open expression. She'd miss that look.

Sam smiled then. "Of course. You're welcome."

Gail fell silent, not knowing what else to say. Sam grew puzzled. Why would she apparently seek him out to talk and then...not talk?

Since she had nothing else to say, nothing she could say, Gail instead rushed forward and threw her arms around Sam. A little surprised, Sam hugged her back.

For two people who loved intellectual debates, their silent hug spoke volumes. Which was just as well, since it would be quite a while until they spoke again.

Rowena had Crowley gather a few of his best minions to watch the bunker. She was convinced it was just a matter of time before Gail imploded. They would be back together soon, an unholy and unhappy family. Just like the not-so-old days.

Funny, Crowley's heart didn't seem to be in it much any more. He had marshalled his forces at Rowena's request and sent his minions to watch the bunker, giving the orders with his usual detachment, but...it didn't feel the same. Did he even want Gail back? Did he really want to go through all that again? He was tired. So tired.

Gail sat down next to Dean at the kitchen table, handing him a beer and uncharacteristically taking one for herself.

"To you," she said, extending her beer bottle.

He clinked her bottle with his. "To you," he said.

They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Thanks for sticking your necks out for me," Gail said.

"Hey, it's what we do," Dean shrugged. "Just glad you're OK now."

"Yeah, but you're not," Gail said to Dean, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but what I'm the most sorry about is that we couldn't get that Mark off of you."

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"You were really convincing when you told Crowley you'd take the deal," she told Dean. "There must have been a part of you that was sorely tempted."

As usual, she was able to cut to the heart of the matter. There had been a small part of Dean that had wanted to take the deal. But he knew that he could never have lived with himself if he had, Mark or no Mark.

"You should have taken the deal," Gail continued.

"No way I could have done that," Dean retorted. "You know that."

She sighed. "Yeah, of course I do. But you know what's going to happen to me, Dean. I'm damned anyway. So you should have." She put down her beer bottle and stared at him. "Maybe you still can."

"Don't say that!" he cried angrily. "We'll figure something out."

Lovely Sam, dear Dean. That's what they always said. But she knew that there were some things you just couldn't fix. There was a saying about good intentions and where they led, wasn't there?

Poor, tortured Dean. He was so full of pain. Just when you thought he couldn't take any more, was going to crack, life just kept piling it on and Dean kept squaring his shoulders and moving ahead. She loved him like she would an older brother, maybe even like a father. Dean felt as if he was responsible for all the world's troubles and it was up to him to do something about each and every one.

But this, he couldn't do anything about.

Gail took one more swig from her beer bottle and made a face. "I really hate this stuff, you know."

Dean chuffed a laugh and they shared a smile.

She rose from the table then and kissed Dean on the forehead, smoothing back his hair.

"Do me a favour, Dean. Take care of yourself. For a change."

Then she walked out of the room, leaving him to his beer and his thoughts.

Crowley had rallied a bit, trusting in his mother's constant reassurances and confidence that all would be well again. This was his lot in life, or afterlife, and he would try to make the most of it.

He guessed he did want Gail back after all. They had begun to build something here before his enemies had interfered. He actually thought he had a way to get her powers back as well; if she would return voluntarily to him, all would be forgiven and forgotten. His mother kept telling him to be patient, that Gail would return to them of her own accord. What made her so sure?

It was time to get his head straight and get back in the game. Crowley had ruled Hell for too long to just give up now. Those fellows thought that a little taste of Angel was going to change that, change him? Well, they had thought wrong. He'd show them just how evil he still was.

As usual, it seemed, Gail saved Castiel for last. He was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, not looking for a Vision now, just enjoying the sight of the fire's dancing colours. God had made so many beautiful things on this planet. Pity there were so many ugly things as well.

Gail sat down on the couch next to him and forced herself to look at his face. He continued to watch the flames and for a moment she enjoyed him enjoying the fire. Trying to fix this moment in her memory.

"Thank you for everything," she said to him.

His brow furrowed at that, but he said nothing.

More was needed here, much more, but she had no words. So she took his hand and he looked at her then, his eyes searching her face.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said evenly.

So he already knew. She didn't know why she was surprised. She should have figured as much.

"Yes, I do," she insisted. "You of all people should know how badly I need to atone for what I've done. Not that I ever could, but...it's something, at least."

"So you're no longer considering suicide?" he questioned her bluntly, but in a gentle voice.

She laughed briefly, without any humour at all.

"What would you call what I'm about to do?"

He enveloped her hands in his, wanting to protest again, tell her not to do this, but he couldn't. Going back to Crowley and offering to trade herself and her powers for the removal of the Mark of Cain from Dean's arm was the only thing she could do now.

Castiel had always known things he had no earthly business knowing, Angel or not, but unlike the Winchesters, Gail was still getting used to this. She looked down at her hands in his. "Are you sure you didn't siphon off a little psychic ability when you removed my powers?" She needed to lighten the mood; she didn't want her last memory of him to be a sad one.

His mouth twitched at that. "Maybe a little." His eyes sparkled briefly, then he turned serious again.

"I wish..." he said, feeling the lump rise in his throat. What interesting sensations these vessels experienced. He swallowed hard and started again. "I wish the circumstances were different." That was all he could say; anything more he could add at this point would only be hollow. Castiel didn't want her last memory of him to be a lie.

"So do I," Gail said simply. Then she rose from the couch. "Well, I'd better get going before I lose my nerve."

Castiel stood too. And because he wanted Gail to remember him as he truly was, he said, "Just this once."

He moved in and gently kissed her on the lips. She kissed him back. No spells, no manipulations, just pure love. It was the only gift he could give her. The kiss deepened for a moment, and then they stepped away from each other. That would have to be enough.

Gail walked away from him and ascended the stairs, slipping out the back door of the bunker. She paused a second before closing the door behind her and took a deep breath. Squared her shoulders. Her soul may be damned, but she was damned if she was going to cry in front of a bunch of Demons. She held her head high.

She could see them looking at her now, moving forward to take her.

"I'm coming willingly, you moron," she said, shaking off the grip that the biggest and ugliest one had on her arm. "Let's go."

Meanwhile, Castiel continued to sit by the fire, feeling empty inside. He was not looking forward to Sam and Dean's return from wherever they'd gone to, and having to explain what Gail had done and why he'd let her do it. He hoped Dean would punch him in the face. It was the least Dean could do for his friend, and it would be what he deserved.

Gail walked into the throne room ahead of the Demon goons, under her own power. She faltered for a moment as she reached where Crowley sat. Did she really have the stomach to do this? She had once thought she could be as brave as Dean. Who was she kidding? Her knees were knocking. But there was no turning back now.

Crowley appraised her coolly. "Hello, darling. Missed me, did you?"

She looked at him, feeling nauseous, but she had a job to do before she died and she meant to do it.

"I'm here to propose a deal."

Sam and Dean were beside themselves when they returned to the bunker and Castiel told them what Gail had done.

"How could you just let her go like that, Cas?" Sam said, bewildered. "What was all that for, then? Everything we did..." he trailed off, his anger leaving him at a loss for words.

Dean was stunned. He thought he knew Cas. They had been through so much together over the years. Cas had always shown up when Dean had needed him the most, and the two of them had fought side by side many times, brothers of the battlefield. But Dean had also seen many different sides to Cas, who was an exasperatingly complex being. Dean wasn't unintelligent; he just liked things simple. Why the hell this Angel had picked him, of all people, for this special friendship was beyond Dean's comprehension. But Dean had lost his patience with the guy.

"Are you freaking insane?" he raged at Cas.

Castiel faced him stoically enough. "It's her act of atonement," he told Dean, portraying a calm he did not exactly feel.

"Oh, that's just crap, Cas," Dean fired back. "Look, I've had it with this whole God Squad thing. You sent Gail to her death and you know it."

That cut deep. Yes, Castiel knew that. He had agonized over it for hours.

"it was her choice, Dean." He bit out the words. "Team Free Will, remember?"

Dean turned and swept everything off the table. Books, empty bottles, even Sam's laptop went flying. As he stood there, breathing heavily, Sam put a hand on his shoulder. Cas also reached for Dean but then thought better of it and pulled back.

"You'd better make the call, Dean," Sam said.

"And just what sort of deal do you have in mind, my lamb?" Crowley said, smiling. Like he didn't already know.

He was going to make her say it. Gail sighed. Fair enough. "You get me and my powers back, and in exchange, you remove the Mark from Dean's arm."

Rowena watched their back-and-forth, feeling smug. She had had the feeling this was going to happen. How heroic of this girl, marching in here and surrendering herself like this. A regular Joan of Arc. And Rowena would know; she had known Joan personally. Well, she'd been one of the people to lay a torch in front of her, at any rate.

"Interesting," Crowley mused, smoothing his beard.

Just then, his cell phone rang and he looked down at it. As soon as he'd received word that Gail was coming back, willingly, he'd placed the phone on the armrest of his throne, anticipating the call. And here was his BFF now.

"Dean!" Crowley picked up the phone with a happy greeting. "Imagine my surprise."

Dean faltered. He couldn't do it. Castiel saw his hesitation and took the phone from him. "Enough," he said wearily. "You know why we're calling. I believe there's a deal on the table."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Angel Buzzkill. He was hoping to torment Dean a while longer. But there would be plenty of time for that later.

Gail stood silent, waiting. Crowley would take the deal, how could he not? He was getting everything he wanted and giving very little in return. But with him, you never knew.

Crowley sat silent for a moment, weighing his options. Of course he would do the deal, he'd be crazy not to. But:

"Fine," he barked into the phone. "You lot will bring me the box and I'll erase your boyfriend's tattoo."

"Any subclauses to the contract?" Castiel asked evenly.

Crowley sighed. This guy just sucked the fun out of everything. He must have been an insurance adjuster in life. Gail was lucky. He had saved her from a fate worse than...boring.

"No," Crowley growled into the phone, "no subclauses." Much as it pained him.

Crowley jabbed the End Call button on his phone and slammed it down on the arm of his chair, breaking it. No matter. He'd been wanting to upgrade anyway, and after today he'd be deleting at least one contact. Permanently.

Castiel handed Dean's phone back to him. "Let's get ready."

Dean hesitated a second more, then shook his head and moved over to the safe, opening it and removing the box. His hand wavered over the vials they had stolen from Crowley's pocket and then he grabbed them, too.

Crowley said to Gail, "Have a seat, my dear." She looked around, not seeing a chair. Then he made a gesture and she understood. She sank to the floor at his feet and he stroked her hair and patted her cheek. Just like you would do to the family pet.

"Prepare the premises for our guests," Crowley instructed the minions. "But leave the sigils."

Gail's head snapped up. What were those?

Crowley had removed the protection symbols around the den, enabling all three men to enter. Dean, Sam and Castiel came into his office, a phalanx of strong-armed Demons behind them.

"Leave," Crowley instructed his goons, waving his hand. They departed.

"Have a seat, gentlemen." Crowley indicated the chairs on the other side of the desk. He opened the file folder in front of him and produced the contract, turning it towards them. "Take a look," he invited them. "No riders, no subclauses." He made eye contact with Castiel, who stared back implacably. Their gaze held until Crowley was forced to look away. Bloody hell. "Sign in the customary way. In light of recent events, I think we'll forgo the kiss. Unless you want to kiss each other, of course," Crowley taunted, unable to help himself after all this time. "I know of certain people who have been waiting years to see that."

Dean leaned forward, pushing the contract back towards Crowley. "Not until we see Gail."

Crowley had been expecting this, but was deeply amused. "What makes you think that you can come into my home and make demands?" he asked them.

"We're not signing anything until we see that's she's all right," Sam said, clenching his jaw.

Crowley made a big show of sighing. "Fine. Follow me." He rose and strode to the door. The trio followed.

Of course, he had no intention of bringing them into the same room as Gail. They would never see her again. Oh, but she would see them.

He led them into a room down the hall, where a musclebound group of Demons set upon the men. As the fight began, Crowley quickly exited the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Then he went to another corridor to the room where Gail sat, despondent and alone. "There's a really good show on, my dear." He flipped on the TV, which was connected to a closed-circuit feed from the room in which the battle was taking place. "In fact, it's must-see-TV." He snapped his fingers and a tray of food appeared. "Fancy a snack?"

Gail watched as Sam, Dean and Castiel fought valiantly. Though vastly outnumbered, they managed to kill a number of the Demons. But there was something wrong. When Castiel engaged the first Demon who charged him, he put his hand on the thing's forehead, and...nothing.

"What's the matter?" the Demon sneered. "Lost your Angel mojo?"

Castiel glanced briefly at Sam and Dean, confused. Crowley snapped his fingers again and suddenly held a remote. He pushed a button and the room where the men were was plunged into semi-darkness, lit only in black light. Revealing the sigils painted on the walls, the ceiling and the floor.

"A trick I learned from your boyfriend," Crowley told Gail smugly. She looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

"Oh, you don't know?" he said teasingly. "Sigils, my darling. Guaranteed to make any Angel go limp. How unfortunate."

Gail looked back at the screen, despairing. The brothers and Castiel were continuing to fight tenaciously, Castiel now having withdrawn a blade from his coat. Demons were dropping like flies and it looked as though her friends would prevail. Then Crowley pushed another button on the remote and another door opened in the room where the fight was taking place, releasing dozens more Demons into the fray.

Gail watched, agonized, as the tide turned and her three friends were beaten to a bloody pulp and finally dragged to the wall to be chained there.

"Aww. And Vegas had the odds in their favour," Crowley said jauntily. He went to kiss Gail on the cheek and she shrank away, repulsed.

"Never play a player, sweetheart," he purred in her ear. Stung by her rejection but determined to show her who was the better man in the end, Crowley left the room.

Gail's stomach was in knots but she couldn't cry. She was beyond tears now, horrified at the sight of her friends in chains, broken and bloody. What had made her think that she could deal with the devil, and that it would be a fair deal? Now her friends would be slaughtered in front of her and it was all her fault.

Castiel looked to either side of him at Dean and Sam and nodded as the Demons approached the trio to chain them to the wall. Each man withdrew a vial of Rowena's poison from their pockets and splashed the contents on the Demons' open wounds before submitting to their bondage. Would this work? God only knew. Castiel, Sam and even Dean prayed fervently that it would. If not, they were toast.

Crowley hesitated, brushing lint off his suit and straightening his tie before entering the room. He wanted to look his best. It was time for his closeup.

Gail had hung her head and closed her eyes when Crowley left the room, thereby missing the exchanged look between her friends and the deployment of the vials' contents. But her eyes snapped open when she heard Crowley shout in her ear: "Watch and learn!"

She opened her eyes, startled. She looked around the room but she was alone. Of course, Crowley had already left the room, So what had that been?

Crowley sauntered up to the men, who were chained to the wall and bleeding profusely.

"Did you really think that you could put one over on me?" he asked them. "Me?!" he shouted in their faces. They said nothing, only glared.

"I'll have that box now," Crowley said to Dean. He reached into Dean's jacket pocket but it wasn't there.

"Button, button, who's got the button?" Sam said in a singsong voice. Crowley approached him then, searched his pockets. Nothing.

Of course. They were going to make him grope the Angel. All right, then. It would probably be the biggest thrill he'd had in his life.

He faced Castiel then and smiled at the sight of the Angel's broken and bloody face. Castiel stared back out of the one good eye he had remaining and said, "You win, Brother."

Crowley took a step back, nonplussed. Out of all the things the Angel could have said to him just then, he had never expected that. Just what the hell was he playing at?

"Brother?" The voice of one of his Demon minions, from behind him. Crowley turned around to see his subjects advancing on him, suspicious looks on their faces. "What did he mean by that?"

"Boys, boys," Crowley said, feeling a little nervous now. That remark had really unhinged him. "Consider the source."

But they kept advancing. "Stand down!" Crowley barked, but all he saw were looks of derision, not defiance.

"What did he mean?" the same Demon demanded again.

"Oh, didn't he tell you?" Castiel said innocently. "Your Boss has got Angel blood in his veins. Therefore, he is-" the words almost stuck in his throat but he had to utter them - "technically - my Brother."

"You don't say," said the spokesman Demon slowly, looking at Crowley speculatively. Well, as much speculation as a Neanderthal could muster, anyway.

Every Demon in the room save for Crowley then froze, strange looks coming over their faces.

Dean, Castiel and Sam exchanged glances. It was time to go for broke.

"Release us," Sam said. Nothing.

"Please?" Dean chimed in.

Then something amazing happened. The Demons started to smile and moved forward to unchain the men, pushing Crowley away in the process.

And just what the bloody bleeding hell was this? Crowley wondered, backing away from the scene in shock.

Gail couldn't believe what she was seeing, but she felt a flutter of hope in her chest. She continued to watch intently.

Once free, Dean couldn't resist. He punched Crowley full in the face, knocking him to the ground. "That felt - awesome!" he said, grinning. "What do you say, boys?" he said, looking to the Demons for confirmation.

Astoundingly, they all broke into smiles, and one of them even high-fived Dean.

Crowley was still on the floor, eyes wide, rubbing his jaw. He had no idea what was going on here but he knew that it was time to go. Before he could get up, however, Sam said to the Demons, "I think the King of Hell wants to bail," he said, grinning. "What do you think about that, guys?"

Two of them moved forward then, and grabbed Crowley by the arms, immobilizing him. Crowley couldn't believe it. He tried to just wink out of the room and their grip, but he couldn't do it. Why? Then he thought about the sigils, and the dose of Angel blood in his veins. Hoist by his own petard. How ironic.

Castiel stepped forward then, looking down at Crowley, his human side reveling in the reversal of roles. He withdrew the box containing Gail's powers from his coat pocket. "Looking for this?" he said, then flipped the box to Dean, who was almost surprised into dropping it. Yup, that was Cas.

Then Castiel withdrew the syringe from his other pocket and rolled up his sleeve. "One more ought to do the trick," he said to Crowley, then injected him with another dose of Angel juice. Making sure the needle hurt.

Rowena entered the room where Gail was then, saying, "Hi, sweetie. Just here to see the show."

She moved behind Gail and looked at the screen, shocked by what she saw. Rowena had been hoping to see the torture of the men at her son's hands, as was planned. She usually didn't go in for violent movies, thinking them too crude, but in this case she'd gladly make an exception.

But someone had rewritten the script, and what she saw was a different picture altogether. It was both a comedy and a tragedy. But even she couldn't have seen the final act coming.

The Demons all left the room then at the Winchesters' request, and Crowley was alone with the trio. He made no attempts to leave now, knowing it was useless to try. Strange; he had been outwitted by these three for the last time and he was so tired. He just wanted it to end.

Dean stood over Crowley, knife in hand, poised to strike.

"No!" Gail yelled, startling Rowena. "Don't, Dean! You still have the Mark!"

"Wait." Crowley held up his hand, and Dean inexplicably hesitated.

As the second dose of Angel blood started to circulate through his veins, Crowley felt a sudden surge of respect for Dean Winchester. He had withstood all that Crowley and his kind had thrown at him all these years and was still standing. In a way, Crowley envied him, always had. Even though Dean had a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar and a smart mouth to boot, he had the love and support of friends and family, something Crowley had never had.

Crowley had spent his whole life scheming to get what he wanted and conning people into giving him what they thought they wanted to give, but he had never once given anyone anything, not really. Even all the deals he had swung over the centuries had been ultimately one-sided, skewed to his benefit.

"Roll up your sleeve," he said to Dean. Then, "Do it, before I bloody well change my mind!"

Dean rolled up his sleeve and Crowley did the same. Then he grabbed Dean's arm and spoke an incantation. The Mark glowed bright red, then suddenly reappeared on Crowley's exposed forearm. As Sam and Castiel looked on open-mouthed, they saw that Dean's arm was clean; it was Crowley's arm on which the Mark now burned.

Rowena threw up her hands and left the room then. She didn't need to see any more. As pathetic as she thought her son was before, she never imagined he was capable of such an act. It was time to pack her bags and go. There would be other times and other places for her. Goodbye, Fergus, I hardly knew ye.

Gail was floored. She sat staring at the screen, transfixed. But the best was yet to come.

Dean stepped back from Crowley in amazement, looking at his arm. He half-expected the Mark to reappear any moment, angrier than ever, and Crowley to grin and say, "Gotcha!"

But all Crowley said was, "It's an honest spell, mate. Binding. It's gone for good."

Castiel stepped forward again then, looking down at Crowley. He withdrew his blade from his coat slowly.

"Just a tick," Crowley said, holding up a finger. He was going to do this right, with all the class and dignity he could muster. "I believe there's one more I owe, as you said, Brother..." the word stuck in his throat but it was a good word too, one he had not used in a long while. Too bad it was so late in the game.

Crowley turned his head to look directly at the camera. "The child wasn't human, my love. It was one of mine. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry about - a lot of things."

He turned his head back to Castiel then, thinking that this was appropriate, if not downright ironic. If Abel had killed Cain instead, the history of the world would have turned out quite differently. And Crowley might never have been born as Fergus at all, nor the need for him and his kind to ever have existed in the first place.

"Do it," he said to Castiel. "Please."

And Castiel raised the blade, looking down at Crowley with a surprising feeling of sadness and regret welling up in his chest. Then he plunged the dagger into Crowley's chest, releasing him from this Earth.

Gail watched silently, a single tear rolling down her cheek, the only tear that had ever been shed for Crowley in his centuries of existence.


	9. A Day In The Life

A low rumble, then another, louder one. Like thunder, but bigger somehow. 

The walls of the room where the men stood looking down at Crowley's body started to vibrate and crack. They looked around, startled. Earthquake? 

Sam and Dean had learned by now that when you cut the head off, the body flounders; that must be what was happening here. 

"We've gotta find Gail and get the hell out of here!" Dean yelled, propelling his brother and Cas towards the door. 

With the walls of the den crumbling around them, they flew out into the corridor and looked wildly in both directions. So many doors. Where was she? 

Now that the spell cast by the sigils had been broken, Castiel was back to full strength. He turned to the Winchesters and said, "I know where she is. I also know we haven't got much time. The exit to this place is the second door, over there." He pointed down the corridor. The brothers hesitated. "Go!" 

He turned from them and headed the other way. Dean's first impulse was to follow Cas, but Sam pulled him back. The place was falling down around their heads. "Cas!" Dean called after the Angel, but he had disappeared from their sight. 

"Come on, Dean!" Sam grabbed his arm and the two of them raced to the door Cas had pointed out. They burst through it just as the building exploded behind them, sending the brothers flying. 

They landed on a soft field of wet grass. Lucky, really. Their injuries from the beating at the hands of the Demons were so severe that any other surface would have been brutally painful. 

As they each took a breath, then slowly rose from where they had fallen, Dean and Sam looked at each other. Holy crap. They turned around to look at where they had just come from, moving gingerly as the pain from their injuries began to set in. 

They were looking at nothing but an open field. As the breeze blew through the grass and the trees, drying their blood, the brothers looked at each other again in pure amazement. Where were they? Where was the rubble from the building? 

And most importantly, where were Cas and Gail? 

When Gail heard the ominous rumbling, she knew it was time to get out of here. In Crowley's earlier hubris he had not bound her or locked the door, so she bolted now, flinging open the door and racing out into the hallway. She looked around in panic as the walls began to crack and crumble. "Castiel! Dean! Sam!" she shouted, hoping for some kind of response so she would know which direction she should run in. She hadn't had the chance to fully process Crowley's dying words but if they were indeed true, she had a lot to live for now. But even if she were to die, Gail wanted to make sure her friends were all right first. 

She yelled out their names again. No response. She would just have to try to find them. After another second's hesitation, Gail picked a direction and hurried down the corridor, trying every door as she went. All of the rooms were empty and the building was crumbling around her. 

She checked the last room of that section of the corridor, trying to dodge the debris that was falling all around her now. A large chunk of concrete flew at her head, and she reeled from the blow. Blood poured down Gail's face and into one eye. But she would not stop, couldn't stop. She ran around the corner and bumped right into Castiel. 

He grabbed her by the upper arms to stop her from falling from the impact. Curiously, as he studied her face and she looked back at his, Castiel paused. His expression was unreadable and a strange smile appeared on his lips. 

"Castiel, where are Sam and Dean? We've got to go!" she exclaimed. 

He continued to look at her, not moving. Then he stared off into the distance for a moment. "They're safe." Then he looked back at her and kissed her gently on the forehead. "So are you, now." 

Well, she wouldn't be, not if they stayed here a second longer. Why wouldn't he move? 

Then Castiel put his hand on her forehead. Oh, good, he's going to wink us out of here, she thought. But he merely withdrew his hand, now covered with the blood from her head wound, and studied it for a moment. Then he nodded to himself, as if in confirmation of the answer to a question. 

"Castiel, what's going on?" Gail pleaded with him, suddenly afraid. He was acting so strangely. Had the Demons or Crowley cast a curse on him? 

Then, just before the building exploded, Cas put his other hand on her forehead and everything went black. Gail heard the explosion faintly, as if it were happening miles away. Phew. That was a close one. 

But when she opened her eyes, everything was still black. 

Sam and Dean walked and walked for what felt like miles. 

"Where the hell are we?" Sam looked around, completely confused. They had found nothing and encountered no one on their travels, just more woods and fields. Where were the buildings, the people? Were they walking in circles? 

"I don't know," Dean replied. They had asked each other this question a dozen times on their walk and he was getting sick of it. He was also tired of walking, so he stopped, and plunked down on a log. 

Dean patted the log. "Have a seat, Sammy." 

"In a minute," Sam replied. He was tired too, but he was also thirsty. "I'm going to go to the stream-" he gestured "-and get a drink. I'll see if I can find something to put some water in for you." 

Dean nodded wearily. As Sam disappeared into the trees, he looked after his little brother, and sighed. Patting his pockets, Dean found his knife and took it out, placing it on the log next to him. Though he could see no apparent threat, it seemed like the thing to do. 

Sam stood by the stream, enjoying the tranquility of the scene. This was a beautiful place, mysterious or not. He took a deep breath, savouring the silence, then crouched beside the water. He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face, then cupped his hands and drank several handfuls of water. Then Sam looked around for something to put some water in to carry back to Dean. He was startled to see a cup sitting among the rocks. Just what he needed. He washed it out, filled it with water from the stream, and took it back to where Dean still sat, his eyes closed. 

"Dean! Wake up!" Sam raised his voice. 

"I'm not sleeping, Sammy," Dean retorted. "Just...tired." 

Sam handed Dean the cup and he drank it down. "Thanks," Dean said, as Sam sat down next to him. 

"Sammy, what are we doing here?" 

"I don't know," Sam said, sighing, looking around him. "We don't even know where 'here' is. It's not where we were before." He was growing frustrated. This made no sense. Had Cas sent them somewhere else, to make sure they were safe? If so, where the hell was he? Where was Gail? 

Dean was getting angry, but his anger was proportional to the situation now that the Mark was gone. The Mark! He yanked up the sleeve of his jacket and checked the arm where the Mark had been, then checked the other arm, just on general principles. It was truly gone. 

Sam knew what Dean was doing, and he smiled in relief when he also saw that the Mark was no longer there. 

"Crowley got rid of it," Dean mused. "The sorry little son of a bitch did it." 

"I guess it was that last little dose of Cas that made him do it," Sam grinned. "Cas called it. Again." 

It was true. Back at the bunker, before the men had left for Crowley's den, Castiel had outlined Plans A through F. When you were dealing with the King of Hell, it paid to have a lot of cards up your sleeve. 

Luckily, one of them had worked. While it had certainly not been in the plan for the men to be beaten and chained to the wall, Cas had had an eventual backup for that scenario, too. He was the one who had asked Dean to remove the vials of Rowena's poison from the safe, where they had been safely nestled since the night he had taken them from Crowley's pocket. 

"I've been thinking about it for quite a while now," Castiel had told the brothers. "And I keep coming to the same conclusion: That - stuff - I took from Crowley's pockets could only be the poison his cat used to infect us, made us act like-" he broke off, remembering the way he had behaved in Gail's room. It was a good thing Angels didn't blush. Dean and Sam had no idea what had happened there and he meant for them never to know. 

He tried again "-Made us act the opposite of ourselves. The Seven Deadly Sins." 

Sam and Dean looked at each other then and laughed. "Cas, you can't be serious," Sam said. 

"I can be, and I am," Cas replied in earnest. "You've seen me be serious many times." 

Good old Cas, Dean had thought, and his penchant for taking things a bit too literally at the weirdest times. Dean didn't know whether to laugh or to smack him upside the head. 

Sam had given Dean a sideways glance. He understood what his brother was thinking. Then he looked back at Cas and said, "But the Seven Deadly Sins is just a myth." Silence. "Isn't it? I mean, aren't they?" 

"Apparently not," Cas said. 

"So that's what's in those vials?" Dean asked incredulously. 

"Exactly," Cas confirmed. "And if they made us act like the opposite of ourselves, then maybe-" 

"-Maybe we can use them as a weapon," Sam finished. 

So Dean had removed the vials from the safe and each man had pocketed one, just in case. And when they were backed into a corner, out of desperation the men had splashed the contents of the vials on the Demon's wounds, just as Gail and Crowley had attempted to do to them on that night. They had no idea if it would work, or even how it might work. Were they crazy to be dosing Demons with sins? Wasn't that redundant? 

But Cas had this wild idea that, since they had all acted contrary to their true natures that day, the Demons might do the same. After all, weren't virtues just sins to them? 

And it had worked, at least long enough for the trio to get free and then to kill their Boss. 

As they talked about the events back in the den, the brothers noticed something else, something just as mysterious as the situation they found themselves in now: their wounds were slowly healing of their own accord. 

Gail woke up back in the bunker, in her own bed. Whew. Safe and sound after her ordeal. 

Even better; as she opened her eyes and they focused, she saw Castiel, sitting in the chair by her bedside. 

"Have I been asleep long?" she asked him, sitting up and stretching. 

"You were never asleep, Gail," he replied. 

Dean and Sam looked at each other, shocked. Not that they had a problem with it, but how had their injuries just suddenly, miraculously healed? 

Where there was a miracle, there had to be an Angel, right? They looked around and called out for Cas, but there was no answer and he did not appear. 

What the hell was going on here? 

After hours more spent wandering aimlessly and getting nowhere, the brothers were beside themselves with frustration. Would they be stuck in this loop forever? 

As it started to get dark, Dean stopped short. "It's time to get crazy," he said to Sam. 

Dean dropped to his knees. "Cas, you've gotta help us get off this merry-go-round, man. You win, I'm praying here." 

Sam gave Dean a sharp look, then shrugged. What the hell, they had nothing else to do at this point. He knelt beside Dean and prayed to Castiel too. 

Cas heard Dean and Sam's prayers, but he was a little preoccupied at the moment. 

Gail swung her legs off the side of the bed. "What do you mean, I was never asleep?" she asked Castiel. Then, misunderstanding him, she said, "Oh, you mean I was unconscious." Remembering, Gail touched her forehead in the place where the slab of concrete had cut her. Nothing. Only smooth skin. She smiled at Castiel. 

"Thanks for fixing me up," she said. "It's kind of nice to be on the receiving end for a change." 

He gave her a small smile in return, but still said nothing. How could he? he thought. She didn't know... 

"Lets go have some coffee with Sam and Dean," Gail said, hopping off the bed and walking towards the door of her room. 

Castiel rose and looked after her as she strolled down the hall and into the library area. "Hey, guys," she said, but they weren't there. 

"Must still be in bed, the lazy-asses," Gail said fondly. She turned to walk back towards the hallway, maybe to go knock on their doors, when Castiel stepped in front of her, blocking the way. 

"They're not here, Gail," he said. 

"Where are they, then?" she said brightly, curiously. 

Then she looked at his face, really looked at it. His brow was furrowed and those eyes, the eyes she had looked into so many times...they were sad and empty-looking. 

"What's wrong, Cas?" She reached for him. "What's wrong? Where are they?" 

He opened his mouth to reply, but the voices in his head had grown so loud and insistent that he put his hand to his forehead in pain. "I hear you, hold on," he muttered. 

Gail was confused now, and she was getting upset, too. After all they'd been through together, all she herself had been through lately, and Castiel wouldn't even talk to her, tell her what was going on? The hell with that. 

She grabbed his arm, but of course, she had no psychic ability any more. 

He removed his hand from his forehead then and said, "I have to go away for a minute." 

"What? You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!" Gail's fingers gripped his arm tightly, hard enough to hurt, but Castiel didn't seem to notice. She felt panic now. 

Unbelievably, he smiled. "I can see you're all mad at me now." Then he turned serious again. "I seem to have made another mistake. I thought I was being kind..." He trailed off, putting his hand to his forehead again, "All right! I'll be right there!" 

What in the holy hell was going on? "Castiel!" Gail cried, shaking his arm. "Cas! Please! Talk to me!" She was shivering with fear. He was acting so strangely. Hadn't they defeated the King of Hell? Hadn't they won? 

"Gail." He shook her hand off his arm and grabbed her by both shoulders. "Please. I was going to tell you but I wanted to do it slowly, gently..." 

"Cas, where are Sam and Dean?" she was wild now, scared both by what he'd said and what he wasn't saying. 

He sighed, resigned. He'd meant for this to go an entirely different way but like most things in his existence since he'd come to this earth and met the Winchesters, it had gone sideways. 

"I'll be right back," he told Gail, then winked out of the bunker. 

Cas reappeared in front of Dean and Sam then, whose prayers had turned mainly to curse words the longer they kneeled without an answer. 

"Finally!" Dean shouted, springing to his feet. "Where the hell have you been, Cas?" 

"As usual, I thought I was doing the right thing, and as usual, I was wrong," Cas replied enigmatically. He gazed into the brothers' faces. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here for you," he told them. "But you have each other, and Gail had no one..." he trailed off. 

"Cas, what are you babbling about?" Dean said impatiently. "I know this is pretty much the way you always talk, but just this once, could you cut to the chase?" 

Cas stared at Dean. Sam interjected, "He means-" 

But Cas interrupted him. "I know what that means. It means get to the point." 

Then he was quiet again, as the brothers looked at each other, equal parts bemused and frustrated. 

"Take my hands," Castiel said, extending one hand to each brother. Shrugging, they complied. All three men vanished from the woods. 

Gail was pacing the floor, manic. She had a fluttery feeling in her stomach. What was going on? 

Just when she thought she was going to lose her mind, Dean, Castiel and Sam appeared in front of her. She ran up to the brothers and threw herself into Dean's arms, then Sam's. She grabbed their hands and pulled them to seats at the table. She was so excited, so happy to see them in one piece! 

"I'll put a pot of coffee on," she said, heading to the coffee nook and rooting around in the cupboards. "Maybe we'll even Irish it up a bit. We've got a lot to celebrate!" She was running her mouth, just so happy to be reunited with all three of her friends. She owed her life to them several times over. "Don't start without me..." 

Once Gail had the coffee going, she turned back to the brothers. "Now, one thing you have got to tell me is how you got those Demons to release you!" she said, sitting down at the table. 

They talked for a bit, catching up, telling stories about their adventures in the den. Sam and Dean told Gail about infecting the Demons with the Sins and she laughed appreciatively. "There's a rich irony in that," she said, and she and Sam high-fived. 

Dean turned serious then. "But you never should have gone there to make the deal," he said to Gail, but glanced at Cas as he said it. 

"I had to, Dean." She reached her hand out to him across the table and he took it. "I felt so badly about what I'd done. I knew it was the only way to clear my conscience as much as I could. Make up for it, in a small way." 

Dean squeezed her hand, then released it. "You still shouldn't have done it." 

"I didn't DO it," she replied. "Why don't we all just say what we're thinking? Crowley did it." She sat back. There it was, the elegantly-suited, Satanic elephant in the room. 

"I couldn't believe it when he did that," Gail continued. She looked at Dean, smiling. "Did you check to make sure it's still gone?" 

"Only about a million times," Sam said, and the three of them laughed. No one seemed to notice Castiel looking at each of their faces in turn, sad, speculative. 

"And what he said at the end, right before-" she couldn't finish. 

Sam took her hand then. "You didn't kill a human child, Gail," he said gently. "You killed a Demon, posing as one." 

"That Angel juice must have really brought something out in the little limey bastard," Dean chimed in. "Two good deeds in one day. Imagine that." 

"They were his acts of atonement," Castiel said suddenly. Dean, Gail and Sam all looked at him. He'd been so quiet they'd almost forgotten he was here. "The ones I told him he would perform when we had him chained up here." 

The brothers suddenly remembered, and were impressed with their friend all over again. Cas may have screwed up, and screwed up big, from time to time during his years here on Earth, but he'd gotten an awful lot right, too. 

Gail jumped up then. "The coffee must be ready by now." Funny, she had forgotten all about it. Usually, one sniff of a fresh pot of coffee and she was all over it. Was she even thirsty? 

"Wait," Castiel said. She froze. There was a strange quality to his voice, one she had never heard coming from him before. "Sit down. Please, Gail." 

She sat slowly back into her seat, studying his face. Dean and Sam were doing the same. 

"What are you not telling us, Cas?" Sam said quietly. 

"I'm sorry I separated you, I should not have done that," Cas said by way of an answer. Dean glared at him until he held up his hands and said, "I know. Cut to the chase." He sighed deeply, but said nothing further. 

"Where WERE we, anyway?" Dean demanded. "We came flying out of an exploding building into...nothing! No rubble, no sign of civilization, nothing!" 

"And I ended up back here," Gail said, puzzled. "But I don't remember how we got out." She looked to Castiel for an answer. "What do you mean, you shouldn't have separated us?" 

"I thought it would be better for me to stay here with you, Gail, until you were able to...adjust. I thought since Sam and Dean were so much more experienced, and they had each other, that they would be fine for a while." 

"And where WERE they when they were being fine?" Gail asked quietly, dread building up inside of her. "How did I get out of the explosion? Castiel, please just tell me. Tell us the truth." 

He swallowed, hard. "You didn't get out of the building in time, Gail. None of you did." 

Silence. Shock. Denial. 

Dean was fed up. This was just Cas being Cas, more enigmatic crap, and he was done with it. 

"Bottom line it, Cas," he said tightly. 

Castiel took a deep breath and let it out before replying. He'd give anything not to have to say this, but he owed his friends the truth: 

"You all died in that building." 

What? Sam thought. This had to be one of Cas's jokes, the ones he thought were funny but no one else seemed to get. Or: "But you brought us back, right?" Sam said, looking to Cas for confirmation. 

But Cas shook his head. "No. You're dead." Possibly coming out a little blunter than he'd intended, but the band-aid had been ripped off now. The healing would have to begin, but of course, acceptance was the first step. 

Gail's head was spinning. Her thoughts brought her back to her panicked run through the den, looking for her friends. The chunk of concrete that had flown at her head. Running into Castiel. The way he had looked at her, looked at the wound on her head and touched it, nodding to himself. 

"You were dying from your head wound, Gail," he told her. It hurt him to say it, but she needed to know why he had not tried to save her. "There wasn't time..." his voice broke, but he forced himself to continue. "By the time the building went up, you were already gone." 

He turned to Dean and Sam. "You both died in the explosion. Your injuries were too severe, and I couldn't be with you, too." The brothers stared at him, speechless. "I'm sorry," Cas finished, somewhat lamely. What else could he say? 

"Then where were we when you came to get us?" Sam exclaimed. "And why did our injuries heal by themselves?" With that last question, he stopped. He was starting to get it. 

Castiel nodded as if they'd already had the conversation. He'd always respected Sam's intelligence; Sam was already putting the pieces together. 

"You were in...what you would probably call...a waiting area," he told Sam. "Your injuries would have healed themselves eventually in preparation for your entry into Heaven-" Dean looked at him sharply at that, but he calmly continued. Now that the truth was out, Castiel wanted to move things along. "You're allowed to retain your vessel in Heaven if you so choose, but it must be pristine. You both must have drunk of the waters. That accelerates the healing process." 

"Heaven!" Dean broke in, scoffing. Knowing Cas the best out of the three of them, Dean had already accepted that what Cas was saying was the truth. "No thanks. After all the stuff we've been through with those dicks? Living among Angels? Not gonna happen." 

Cas smiled then, a genuine smile. He knew Dean would react this way. And who could blame him? 

"That's why I sent you two to the waiting area," he said to Dean and nodded towards Sam, "and was able to keep Gail in stasis for a while. I called in a very big favour, and I was able to arrange a deal." 

A deal? Dean wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Sounded too much like their not-so-dear departed Demon King. And he was so done with Angels. He had made an exception for Cas because of their long association. Cas wasn't really Dean's idea of an Angel, anyway. Angels really WERE dicks, but Cas had always been different, a misfit in Heaven and a misfit on Earth. Deep down, Dean had always felt the same way about himself. He didn't really fit into normal, polite society and even among fellow Hunters he was a renegade. But Cas...well, Cas was family. And now, so was Gail. Family stuck together, no matter what. 

So we're, what, Angels now? Sam was bemused, looking at the others around the table. He knew how his brother would feel about that and he mostly felt the same. Based on their not-so-positive experiences with Angels over the years, Sam couldn't imagine him and Dean fitting among their ranks. Whay were they supposed to do up in Heaven? And what was this deal Cas had mentioned? 

He was a little more hopeful than his brother, though. Sam had not only always been the more cerebral of the two, he was also more spiritual. Despite what he'd seen over the years and the often blurred lines between Heaven and Hell, Angels and Demons, a part of Sam had continued to hold out hope for a better future. Could this be what he had been looking for all along? He knew Dean trusted Cas implicitly now, though he'd been given plenty of reasons not to over the years. Dean had faith in Cas, faith that had been tested greatly but had never been broken. So by extension, Sam believed in Cas, too, and Sam was ready to get on with his future. 

Gail had also been wondering if they were all Angels now. She supposed they must be. Not having had any of Sam and Dean's horrifying experiences with many Angels, Gail was thinking in mostly positive terms. She was sorry that they were all dead, but they were sitting here together, weren't they? And Castiel was here to provide comfort and guidance. OK, he hadn't done such a great job at it so far, but the poor guy had been saddled with breaking the shocking news to them and she could see how hard that had been for him. 

She seemed to recall her brother Frank having been scornful of Angels, though. He had said very little on the subject over the years and Gail had always put this down to the fact that he had not been a religious man. Frank had been more like Dean in that respect; he only believed in what he could see and touch, and as far as Gail knew, Frank had never encountered any Angels. He had seemed to know of them though, and she had the feeling that Frank had felt they were something to avoid. 

But Castiel was an Angel. Admittedly, he was her only frame of reference, but still...how could this possibly be a bad thing? Look at all the goodness in him. Gail felt privileged to even be thought of as worthy enough to be counted in his number, especially considering the way she thought she was headed before Crowley had told her the truth. So why did Sam and Dean look so displeased? 

Castiel could see his three friends thinking, trying to digest and process what he had told them, each in their own way. He loved them all and was glad they were working their way towards acceptance. It would make what was about to come easier, though he knew it would still be difficult for them. 

As he had stood in the bunker waiting for the brothers to prepare for their last foray into the Demon's den, Castiel had received another Vision. He was shown what to do, and the result that would occur. No, he protested silently. After all they've been through? It's not fair, he thought, feeling the frustration of a child who had learned one of life's most fundamental truths. No, it isn't fair, the Voice had agreed. But whoever said life was fair? Bewildered, wondering what the point of the Vision was, Cas had snapped back to reality when Dean had called to him, "Let's go, Cas!" 

Castiel had known his friends were going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. It was what was meant to happen, and so it would be. But although Angel Castiel was resigned to this fact, Earthly Cas simply could not accept it. The Winchesters' Cas had one more rebellion in him. 

So Cas did everything in his power to save his friends that day, but when he could see that he was going to fail, he had mitigated the circumstances as best he could. He had been able to transition Sam and Dean to the waiting area in order to delay their shock and anger. And then he had sat at Gail's bedside, knowing that of the three, she would need his help most of all. 

Since Dean and Sam had both previously died but had been allowed to come back to their lives, Cas had reasoned that they would be more accepting of the eventual truth. Oh, he knew they would be upset, angry. They knew each other too well to pretend otherwise. But as he'd said, the brothers had had each other for support. 

Gail had had no one. Though she had grown close to the Winchesters, Castiel had thought that he should be the one who she turned to for comfort and support once he'd worked up the nerve to tell her the truth. The human side of Cas was likely the driving force here. But was that so wrong? He was coming from a place of love and compassion, wanting only to help her make the transition without too much trauma. 

But when he had seen how frantic she became and heard the Winchesters' confused and angry prayers, Castiel realized that he had been wrong. They were stronger together as a unit. Just like family. Castiel smiled his funny little smile. He'd always thought the Angels were his family. Well, until the vast majority of them had tortured and tried to kill him, of course. Now he understood what family really meant, what it was supposed to be all about. 

So when Sam and Dean were wandering in the forest and Gail was in suspended animation, Castiel had gone to Heaven, called in the remaining chits he had, and begged for a private audience. And for some divine reason, he had come back to Earth with a very special gift for each of his three friends. But for every deal, there is a quid pro quo. Castiel had always known that, of course. So had the Brother he had killed back in the den. There were some hard decisions ahead, for all four of them. 

Dean was a man of action and decision. "So what happens now?" he asked Cas. "We go to Heaven? I gotta tell you, Cas, I don't know if I'm on board with that." 

Cas smiled at him. "Well, it would still beat the other places you've been, wouldn't it?" 

"I'm not so sure." Dean was off-balance. He had the strength of his convictions but he was in strange territory here. Yes, he'd died and gone to Hell before, and had also fought his way out of Purgatory, but this felt different. Now he was expected to go to Heaven? Cas had a point, it was likely the best alternative of the three, but he still couldn't picture it. Working as a bureaucrat in a white suit with a bunch of high-and-mighty douchebags? You might as well go ahead and kill him right now. Again. 

"I knew you would say that," Cas replied, still with that funny little smile on his face. "I imagine Sam feels the same way." Cas looked to Sam for confirmation and after a moment's pause, Sam nodded in support of his brother. 

"I wouldn't necessarily expect you to have the same opinion," Cas said to Gail, "not having had the experiences with Angels these two have had. But we've always been Team Free Will here. So I've been given a very rare opportunity to bestow upon all of you." 

They looked at him inquiringly. 

He went on. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. I do that a lot." 

Sam and Dean burst into laughter. After a moment, Gail laughed, too. Man, that felt good. 

Castiel sat patiently until they'd collected themselves. "Sorry," Sam said, still grinning. 

But it was OK. It did Cas's heart good to see them laugh. He wished he felt like laughing. Maybe when this was all over, if things worked out. 

Cas continued: "You're each to be given the gift of a day." 

Their eyebrows raised, but they let him go on. 

"One day on Earth, to live life exactly as you'd like to have lived. You can be anyone you want to be besides yourself, anyone throughout the history of time. Witness any event in history. You're only limited by your imaginations. Live out one scenario or many in the allotted time. No consequences, no recriminations." 

Their thoughts ran riot. This was nuts. Did he really mean it? Dean started to smile, predictably cooking up all kinds of scenarios in his head. None of them pure and chaste, Sam was sure. And what would he do? Sam wondered. The same? 

"No consequences?" Sam repeated. 

"That's right," Cas replied evenly. "Since you can visit any era you want, or multiple ones, we made sure that history would not be altered in any way by your actions." 

This sounded like a lot of movies Gail had seen. God, or whoever Castiel had received the gift from, definitely had a sense of humour. 

"No recriminations?" she echoed what Cas had said. 

Dean was thinking about the movies he'd seen as well, and was skeptical. There was always fallout, sometimes hysterical but usually tragic, catastrophic. The fact that they were talking about potential time travel didn't faze him in the least, having time-travelled courtesy of Cas before. But he was having a hard time believing there would be no strings. 

"None," Cas confirmed, in answer to Gail's question but seemingly answering Dean's unspoken one. "The key, and the gift, is to do whatever makes you the happiest. Whatever dreams and goals you would have liked to attain in life. It's your gift, your reward for all of the good things you've done for humanity throughout your lives." Gail wondered about herself when he said this. What good things? OK, she'd healed a few people, had tried to live her life as a good person for the most part, but she had never really helped humanity that much, to her great regret. Maybe she was receiving her father and her brother's Hunter points by proxy. Cas had paused, but continued: "And Heaven's apology for having been taken away from Earth too soon." 

As they digested this, the gravity of what Cas was saying sinking in, he finished: "And at the end of the day, I'll come to you individually and you can give me your decision." 

"Decision? What decision?" Sam asked. 

"The decision about your future," Cas replied. 

Now they were really confused. Future? They were dead, weren't they? Though all three were now excited about the possibilities of exploring their imaginations with the "dream day" they'd been given, now that they thought about it, what was the point? Was he saying what they thought he was saying? 

For a welcome change, Cas didn't hedge, make them draw it out of him. "At the end of your day, when I come to you, you'll have decided what you want to do with the rest of your existence. Who you really want to be. And it'll be your only chance to decide; whatever you choose, whomever you choose to be, you'll be tied to for the rest of eternity. So make sure," he concluded, looking at their faces, trying to impress on each the enormity of what he was saying. "Be very, very sure." 

Dean couldn't wait to get started. A day to do whatever, be whoever he wanted? Bring it on! He wasn't too concerned about the decision at the end, he was convinced he'd make the right one. 

Sam was a bit more leery. Though he too was eager to embark on his day, had so many ideas, he was more aware of the importance of the final decision. After all these years, was he finally able to make a true choice, how own choice? And what would that choice be? 

Gail was at a loss. She too had never had the freedom of choice. Having never been a Hunter herself, she'd nonetheless been pulled into the life as a young child. She'd been given no options after her parents were killed and she and Frank had to go on the run. Blessed or cursed with her powers from birth, then had them taken from her. They were still locked away in the bunker's safe. Did she want them back? How did she want to spend her day? It was like going to a restaurant that had a menu 20 pages long. Too many choices. It was more overwhelming than exciting. What would her decision be in the end? 

Castiel sent them on their way with a touch to each of their foreheads. Then he stood in the bunker, alone. It was too quiet. Had he done the right thing? It was impossible to know. So many times in the past he'd had the certainty of his convictions, and so many times he had been wrong. He was the one who needed redemption most of all. 

But God hadn't seen it that way. When He'd granted Castiel the private meeting his Son had begged for, He knew that despite all evidence to the contrary, Castiel's heart had always been in the right place, unlike so many of his Angel brethren. God wished He hadn't stayed away so long, but it was they way things had to be at the time. 

When Castiel had entered God's office he had immediately sunk to the floor on his knees in supplication, but his Father asked him to rise. He couldn't have his favourite Son groveling on the ground like that. And Castiel was his favourite Son, always had been. So flawed, so funny, full of human emotion and a boatload of good intentions. Erring in sin and blasphemy left and right but always proceeding. Falling over and over again but getting back up each time, hoping to do better. How could you not love a Son like that? He was truly one of a kind. God may have made him, but Castiel had created himself. 

So his Father asked him to rise and they sat on chairs, talking with respect, as equals. Hammering out a deal. Once the deal was done, God took his Son's hand and said, "You realize under the terms of our agreement, you'll have your decision to make as well?" he reminded Castiel, who nodded. Yes, he realized. 

"Choose well," God said. 

"Father," Cas replied, his mouth twitching, "when have I ever done that?" 

God threw back his head and laughed. No wonder He loved this Son of His so much. 

Then Castiel was gone, sent back to Earth with his gift and his instructions. His entire future hinged on the decisions of two men and one woman, each of whom he loved, and he did not want to let go. His Father was full of love and compassion but was also a stickler for certain rules, and he had allowed Castiel to bend those rules for the last time. 

It's said that when you have a big decision to make, your first impulse is usually the right and most telling indication of how you truly feel. 

Most people who'd known adult Dean in life would have expected him to line up an infinite number of shots and drink them, attend an orgy, eat more junk food than any human could handle. And while all those ideas and more had danced around in his head, Dean's first stop was the kitchen of the house in which he'd grown up. 

Mary stood at the counter, preparing her son's lunch. "How's your new school?" she asked Dean. 

He sat at the table and stared at her. Taking the sight in once more. 

Receiving no answer, Mary looked over her shoulder at her son. He appeared in his present, adult form to himself, but Dean's mother saw him as the young boy he had been. Innocent, before any of the family's legacy had affected him and set him on the road. 

"Fine, Mom," Dean replied. He couldn't say anything more, drinking in her face, the kitchen, the feeling of being home. 

Mary turned around to face him, carrying a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She placed them on the table in front of him. "Crusts cut off, just the way you like it, Your Majesty," she said to him, but she was smiling. 

Dean looked up at her, tears in his eyes. "Mom, can I have a hug?" 

Mary was a little surprised; her son didn't often make such requests. But she embraced him now, pulling him as close as she could allowing to her advanced pregnancy. 

Dean prolonged the hug. He looked at his mother's burgeoning belly and smiled, "Hey, Sammy. See you soon," he whispered. 

After who knows how long, not long enough for Dean, Mary pulled out of the embrace. "Eat your lunch, sweetie. Your Dad will be home soon." 

Sam woke up next to Jess in the small apartment they'd had off campus. He reached for her and she mumbled, "What time is it?" 

He didn't really know how to answer that. The only time he had to be concerned with now was the time-stamp Cas had imprinted on each of their arms, counting down how much time remained to their day. There was lots left for now, but Sam knew it would go by far too quickly. 

He started to kiss Jess then, gentle kisses on her back, her shoulder, her cheek. She moaned with annoyance, pleading fatigue. But Sam persisted and eventually she rolled over to face him, smiling. 

"Someone's in a romantic mood this morning," Jess said teasingly. She loved her fiance so much. "What do you want to do today?" she asked Sam. 

"This," he answered, and kissed her deeply. 

Before Cas sent Gail on her way, once the brothers were already gone, she asked him if he could restore her powers before she headed out. 

He looked at her questioningly. Of course this was possible; as long as Sam and Dean remained dead, the spell on the box containing them was broken. 

"Why?" he asked Gail. He trusted her now, but he was curious. 

She paused, then said, "Let me rephrase that. I'd just like my healing powers back, that's all." 

He smiled then. Of all the powers Heaven had bestowed upon him, that was the one Castiel liked the best. 

"Sorry," he told her softly, "that's not in the contract." Her face fell a bit, so he went on, "But...when you died, you did require a small amount of Grace. Enough to do one Healing." He said this last part quietly, as if sharing a secret. But it was a curious request on her part; did she not recall that nothing in history could be altered by her actions today? He chose not to remind her, wanting to see what she had in mind. 

She continued to look at him but said nothing. After a moment, she nodded. "OK. Let's get this show on the road, then." 

Castiel touched her forehead, sending Gail on her way. 

He had been granted the opportunity to watch each of the three on their journeys if he so chose, and though out of respect for their privacy he would not watch everything, Castiel really did want to see where each of them would choose to go first. So he sat at the library table and tuned in. 

Castiel wasn't at all surprised that Dean had chosen to spend time with his mother first. He had been watching over Dean for years, and he knew that this had been Dean's happiest time. Bonding with his mother, father alive but also tellingly absent from the scene, the promise of baby Sam yet to come. 

Cas smiled sadly as Dean and Mary embraced. How different life would have been for this family without the Hunter legacy. Did this mean that Dean was ready to leave it all behind? 

There was a reason that Dean and Castiel had shared this profound bond over the years, since before they'd even met. Dean had also craved love and acceptance all his life; after this brief moment, those had been hard to come by and Dean had had to make one hard decision after another, trying to force the issue. He and Cas were really one and the same, two sides of the coin God had made. No wonder they were so close. 

Then Gail had been thrown into the mix. Cas had felt an immediate connection to her, too, though he was still unsure as to why. Was it his empathy for human suffering? Was it the blood bond they'd shared when Gail had restored his Grace? He still did not know how that had been possible. His subsequent gratitude had been genuine, but the way he felt about her now went way beyond that. 

As for Sam, Cas had started out by accepting him as Dean's brother and therefore loving him by proxy. But as he'd watched Sam grow and mature, Cas now loved Sam as a person in his own right. 

Cas understood why Sam had gone straight to the time he'd spent with Jess. Mirroring Dean without even knowing it. This was the last time Sam had felt truly happy, oblivious to the evil that was circling around them even then. Completely understandable. As Sam and Jess began to make love, Cas quickly looked away. Just because you were able to see didn't mean that you should. He would check back with Sam later. 

He tried to pick up Gail but couldn't. Odd. The screen was dark. Then Castiel heard a sound behind him and turned in his chair to see Gail standing there. Doing nothing, saying nothing, just looking at him with her eyes misted over. He opened his mouth to speak but she had winked out of the room before he could think what to say. 

Dean stuck around to watch his father come home from wherever he'd been, but chose only to watch his parents share a cup of coffee and chat. He'd realized he didn't really want to interact with his dad. He wasn't sure exactly why, but it felt right somehow. After his mother was dead he'd spent plenty of time with his father and apparently that had proved to be enough. While he respected and felt love for his father, this more mature version of Dean recognized the man his father had become once he'd lost Mary. All Dean had to do most days if he wanted to see his father was look in the mirror. But there was more to John's eldest son than met the eye, more than his father and mother's DNA had combined to create. And this Dean was content to watch his parents' private time without needing to be a participant. 

After a while, Dean left the house without looking back. 

Sam spent hours with Jess. They dressed and went out for breakfast, then walked around the campus, had a beer and an intellectual debate about theology with some friends. How ironic that Sam could have shed some real-world light on the subject now, he thought to himself with a smile. But for now it was enough to share in the experience mostly as a spectator. 

Then, realizing the opportunity he'd been given, Sam pushed fast-forward and he and Jess were married, living in a lovely little house with two kids, a boy and a girl. And the family dog, of course. They were having a backyard barbecue and Sam was doing the cooking. The kids were laughing, playing in the little playground he'd built for them. "Daddy, watch me go down the slide!" his daughter called out, and he turned obediently. She had her mother's golden hair. She slid neatly down the slide and Sam put down his spatula and applauded, receiving the world's most radiant smile from his little girl as a reward. Her brother had dark hair and Dean's features. He was sitting on one of the swings, pumping his legs to go as high and fast as he could. Sam watched his children play, ignoring the burgers for the moment, his heart swelling with the love he felt for them. 

Then Jess appeared at the patio doors, a bowl of potato salad in one hand and a beer for him in the other. After all these years she could still take his breath away. How lucky he was. 

As the clock on his arm ticked away the afternoon, Sam ate lunch with his family, played with his kids, and cuddled his wife. Never once looking at the time. 

Gail's first visit after her impulsive trip back to see Castiel was also her family home. She merely stood by as a spectator while watching her parents and Frank hanging out in the living room watching TV together. Had her childhood counterpart gone to bed? That was silly, of course; she WAS her childhood counterpart in this scenario, or could be, if she wanted. But even though she was enjoying this tableau, Gail felt somehow removed from it also, like she didn't really belong. 

So, happy enough to have seen her parents and her childhood home once more in happier and more normal circumstances, Gail silently retreated. 

Like Sam, she then pushed fast-forward and found herself in one of the many motel rooms she and Frank had stayed in over their years on the road. Her brother was at the table, shuffling a deck of cards. 

"Let's go, kiddo," he called to her. "Penny a point." 

Gail came to the table and accepted the hand Frank had dealt her. They spent a companionable hour playing cards, talking, teasing each other as only siblings do. Never once mentioning hunting, Demons or death. 

Dean being Dean, he did spend a bit of time indulging in earthly pleasures. Free Will or not, he was damn well going to take advantage of the "no consequences" part before the end of the day. So yes, he did stuff his face, down a few more shots than he should, and have that menage a trois that had always been on his bucket list. But he also drove the winning car in the Daytona 500, and pinned Andre the Giant to the mat. How cool to feel this exhilarated without having to kill anyone. 

But after this brief period of silliness and self-indulgence, Dean got back on track. There were people he needed to see and talk to, and it was already mid-afternoon. 

Sam tore himself away from his family. To say he was reluctant to go would be a major understatement, but he had taken a peek at his arm and it was getting late already. He ruffled the dog's fur, gave his kids one more hug, and kissed Jess again and again. 

"I'm going to the store," he said to her. He didn't say when he'd return and she didn't ask, as if she already knew. 

Then, after one last agonizing look at his family, Sam was gone. 

Educated and well-read, Sam had recognized the opportunity to witness and be part of some great moments in history. He watched the pyramids being built, sailed on the Santa Maria, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. He was tempted to go to Germany and assassinate Hitler but owing to the rules, Sam knew this would be futile. So he instead opted to sit at the Dalai Lama's feet and have a philosophical discussion, with Gandhi and Buddha weighing in. As the sun began to set over the mountains, they meditated for a few minutes and Sam went on to the next place, feeling more serene than he had ever felt in his life. 

Castiel was amused as he watched Dean's heroism in sports. He had deliberately blurred the screen during the brief debauchery, though it hadn't particularly surprised or bothered him. It was Dean's day to do with as he wished and those urges were a component of Dean's personality. No matter. 

Cas was more fascinated by Sam's travels and as the afternoon waned, his respect for Dean's younger brother had grown by leaps and bounds. How had this man been overlooked for so long? He had substance. 

Now, where was Gail? 

Gail was walking in Central Park, enjoying the lush landscape of the autumn leaves. She had also noticed that the afternoon was waning. 

She had been at somewhat of a loss after spending her hour with Frank. All dressed up and nowhere to go. She'd better get her act together. She'd been given a unique opportunity, to say the least, and here she was, mooning like a teenage girl. 

So Gail took action. She went to the space station and had a look at the wondrous sight of Earth from that perspective. She wrote the Harry Potter series of books and did a live reading to a room full of kids and adults alike, savouring the joy on their faces. Then she visited several hospitals and spent some time with the patients there, offering them comfort and conversation. But without her healing powers she could do no more, so she turned away in sadness and frustration. 

It was time for a pick-me-up. There was only one place to go for that. In a gender-bending moment of pure joy, Gail hit the home run to win the 1993 World Series and as she jumped and ran around the bases, Gail thought this feeling to be much greater than any powers could ever provide. 

Castiel watched Gail's journey with a sense of wonder, seeing everything through her eyes. She was an Angel in every true sense of the word. He knew all too well that his and his fellow Angels' reputations as kind and benevolent beings were, as Dean would say, a load of crap. When God had left Heaven for reasons known only to Himself, the Angels had been leaderless and Heaven had descended into anarchy. This had resulted in the war. A war in which he had played too large of a role. And though God had now returned and order had been restored, Cas thought that a lot of his fellow Angels could benefit from a refresher course in who they were supposed to be and what their purpose really was. Gail was showing him that now, and he thanked her for it. 

Dean paused at Lisa's door. Did he have the strength to knock? Should he? Even though he knew this was a fantasy day and had been promised no consequences, what about the potential consequences for him? Lisa and Ben would have no recollection of this encounter as it wasn't real, but Dean would. Didn't he already have enough pain from the past to deal with? 

So he looked in the window instead and watched them having dinner. It appeared it was still just the two of them, mother and son, unless Lisa had some guy who was elsewhere. Turned out it didn't really matter to Dean one way or the other. He realized he had truly let go at last. So after one more look at the happy domestic scene, Dean turned away from them too, with much less regret than he would have thought. 

As darkness set in, Dean went to Bobby's old house. They shared a bottle of Bobby's oldest bourbon and hashed over old times and old cases. 

Dean asked Bobby what it was like to be dead and in Heaven. 

"You're dead too, ya idjit," Bobby growled irascibly, but he was smiling. "Good job on Crowley, by the way. Shoulda run faster, though. You must be getting old. Well, at least, you WERE." He sat back in his chair, looking at Dean, eyes twinkling. 

"Bite me," Dean said affectionately. 

"How's Sam?" Bobby asked then, prompting Dean to give him a sharp look. 

"What do you mean, 'how's Sam'?" Dean retorted. "He's dead, like me. And Gail," he added, shaking his head. That one had been hard to take, after they'd tried so hard to save her. 

Bobby assessed Dean's facial expression. Naturally, Dean had told him about Gail's entry into the Winchesters' lives and about all of the events that had followed. Bobby had been amazed by the tale, but was also angry at the way things had turned out. Though he was elated to see Dean again, what the hell kind of point was God trying to make here? To go through all that, just to lose their lives in the end? 

But here Dean was, with no Sam by his side. It was weird, wrong. 

"Have you seen Sam today?" Bobby persisted. 

Dean was troubled by the question. No, he hadn't. Why not? Was he really as selfish as some people had accused him in the past of being? 

"Not yet," Dean replied, "but there's still time." He glanced at his arm and saw that he was wrong. Time was running out. 

Dean realized he still hadn't received any answers from Bobby, and he was growing frustrated at how little time was left to get the information he needed. 

"What's Heaven like?" he demanded of Bobby again. "What's it like, being a-" 

The word stuck in his throat but Bobby interrupted, "Being an Angel? Beats the alternative all to hell. And I mean that literally." 

Dean had promised himself to hold his anger in check today of all days, but he lost it then. "Dammit, Bobby, does Heaven issue you guys a pamphlet when you get there, telling you how not to answer questions? Cas, you...Just once I'd like to get a straight answer from one of you!" 

He slammed his glass down on the table, glaring at Bobby, breathing heavily. 

But Bobby just smiled. "Everybody has their own story and had to take their own journey, Dean. Sorry, but them's the rules." He lifted his glass. "One more toast." 

Dean snatched up his glass, hesitated, then clinked it against Bobby's and they both drank after Bobby said, "To John," and Dean added, "To Sam." 

Bobby raised an eyebrow but said nothing. 

"Well, thanks for the wealth of information," Dean said sarcastically, rising from his chair. 

"Just a minute," Bobby said, then walked around the table to where Dean stood. "Gotta have our warm and fuzzy moment. In a manly way, of course." 

Dean smirked briefly and Bobby gave him a big bear hug. Cynical and borderline alcoholic or not, this was the man that should have been his father, Dean thought. Though you could torture him for eternity and he would have never admitted it out loud. Besides, if not for John there wouldn't have been a Sam. 

Sam! He had to go, before the day was over. So after one last look at Bobby, Dean left the house. 

Sam was wandering around the Louvre, looking at the classic paintings and sculptures created by human hands over the centuries. Why had he never tried to paint? There hadn't been enough time, he supposed. This day was serving to illustrate how fleeting time really was. Ironically, it was only after he'd died that Sam realized how much time he had wasted in life by not wasting time. Did that even make sense? 

He looked down at his arm and saw with some disappointment that the day was almost over. But he had made his decision, and his mind was peaceful. There was one more place he needed to go. 

Dean was back in the bunker. He had hoped to see Sam before the day was over but wasn't quite sure how to accomplish this. Did he call out? Conjure him up like a rabbit in a hat? Sam could be anywhere. One thing he knew for sure: Dean loved his little brother above all else, but he sure as hell wasn't going to pray to him. 

He looked around the bunker, realizing how quiet the place was with just him in it. He loved the place, he had ever since he and Sam had first laid eyes on it. But what good was it without Dean, and what good was Dean without Sam? 

Dean had made the decision that felt like the right thing, the only thing, for himself. But had Sam made his? 

Sam had. He came down the stairs of the bunker to see Dean looking at him with apprehension. 

As he always did when emotions threatened to overwhelm him, Dean cracked wise: "Hey, honey, how was your day?" 

But before Sam had a chance to retort, Castiel appeared, standing between them. "Day's over, guys," he said. Sam and Dean looked down at their arms simultaneously and sure enough, the counters had disappeared. 

Cas continued. "Rules state I have to receive your decisions individually." He was speaking to them both but looking at Dean, anticipating his objection. 

But Dean surprised him, shrugging and merely saying, "Fine." 

Sam said, "I'll just-" he gestured "-wait outside then, I guess." They all looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Sam re-ascended the stairs and exited the bunker. 

Dean faced Castiel. "So it's crunch time," he said. "Put up or shut up." He looked at Cas hopefully. "Anything in that rulebook of yours that says I have to go first?" 

"Cut to the chase, Dean," Cas said shortly, though his mouth twitched a little. 

So it was going to be like that, Dean thought. OK, I'm all in. 

"I want my life back," he said to Cas. "I want things to be like they were before. Sammy and me living here, hunting, helping people." He paused, but if there was ever a time to show all his cards it was now. "And you, and Gail, with us. Like a family." There. It was out. 

Cas's expression was soft but his eyes had a distant look. He was smiling, though. "Duly noted," he said, feeling an affection for Dean that he didn't show. He still had a job to finish. "Now that I've got your decision, I'll have to receive Sam's and Gail's." He turned to leave the bunker when Dean said from behind him, "What? That's it?" 

Cas turned back around. "That's it. You have your life back. Dean. This was your decision. For the record, I think it's the right one. For you. But the others will have to render their decisions according to what's right for them. Choices, Dean. That's what free will is all about." 

Then Cas climbed the stairs to see Sam, leaving Dean to stare after him, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

While the brothers were talking with Cas, Gail still had two more things she wanted to see. As she had been the last to leave she still had a bit of time left but was well aware of how short it had become. 

But these missions felt vital to her, so she pushed on. She appeared in a small Scottish village and entered a house that was little more than a hovel. 

Gail saw a young child playing with a wooden toy on the floor in the corner while a group of adults stood around him. 

"Poor thing," a woman said to the others. "His mother's abandoned him and he has no other family. What is to become of him?" 

One of the men spoke up. "I'll take him," he said, but he spoke harshly. "We only have daughters, and I'll need help on the farm." He snatched the boy up in his arms but immediately put him back down, looking sternly at the boy. "You'll work hard for me, lad, and in return I'll feed you and clothe you. Which will be a damn sight more that that whore of a mother of yours ever did." The women made a sound but said nothing as he was quite right. 

Then the man pulled on Fergus's hand so hard the child dropped his toy. As they left the cottage, the boy tried to speak, but fear made him hold his tongue. 

Fast-forward through the years. Gail saw the beatings Fergus endured growing up and, somehow worse, the coldness and indifference with which his adopted "family" and the other children treated him. Fast-forward again and Fergus was a grown man, repeating the cycle. Alcoholic, treating his own son with contempt, beating him as Fergus himself had once been beaten. Making the Demon deal out of loneliness and self-loathing. When you had nothing, you truly felt as if you had nothing to lose. What was one torn and tarnished soul in the scheme of things, anyway? It was not like he'd ever used it, or ever would. 

Gail had seen what she felt she needed to see. As the final minutes on her arm counted down, she headed back to the present time. To the bunker. 

Castiel knew Gail was almost out of time, but first there was Sam. 

"What was Gandhi like?" he asked Sam. "I'm sorry to say I've never had the pleasure." 

Sam looked at Cas, startled. "How did you-" He stopped himself. Who was he kidding? "You were watching." 

Cas held up his hand. "Only bits and pieces. Nothing personal, I assure you. I was...curious." That funny little smile. "A trait I picked up from you." 

Sam chuffed out a laugh. Cas. 

"I had a good day," he said by way of a reply, unconsciously imitating Cas in return. 

"Have you made your decision?" Cas asked. 

"Yes, I have." 

Dean looked up apprehensively as Sam and Cas re-entered the bunker. Once they had descended the stairs, he couldn't stand it any longer. But, being Dean, the question came out as, "So? Should I get three beers? Or two? Or-" he swallowed hard, glancing briefly at Sam, "-one?" 

"I get the second round," Sam replied, letting his older brother off the hook. He approached Dean, smiling. "You and I made the exact same decision. I guess we have to do everything together." 

The brothers embraced then in the best, most genuine hug they'd ever shared. When they stood apart, sniffling and knuckling back the tears, Cas had to blink away a few of his own. But...back to business, the most important business yet. 

"Better make it two," he told the brothers. "There's still one more decision I have to receive." 

He turned to ascend the stairs one more time, leaving the brothers to their celebration of the restoration of their lives. Together. 

Gail was walking towards the bunker just as Castiel was closing the door behind him. She looked down at her arm. Dammit! Less than one minute left! Why had she dawdled so long earlier? 

By the time they turned to face each other, she had only seconds to go. 

"Have you made your decision, Gail?" Castiel asked her softly. 

"Castiel, please," she appealed to him. "There's just one more thing I need to see, one more life I have to look at..." 

"The rules are the rules," he replied, looking at her evenly. 

"And we would never want to break the rules, would we?" Gail retorted, "'Cas'?" 

She never called him that, had only used his full name. Cas was the Winchesters' name for him. He understood the point she was trying to make, and his mouth twitched again. 

Castiel's hand waved over her arm and 5 more minutes were added to the counter. He leaned in to her. "It'll be our little secret," he said into her ear, then stepped back. 

"Now, whose life do you need to look at?" he asked her. 

Gail took his hand. "Yours." 

Dean headed to the fridge to get the beers as Sam sat down, heavily, at the table. "So, seriously, how was your day?" Dean asked him, uncapping the beers. He sat down across from Sam and took a long pull from the bottle. His hand was still shaking. 

"I want to hear about yours, too," Sam replied. "But let's just sit here for a minute. "There'll be plenty of time for that later." 

They exchanged a look at that. Time was a funny thing, wasn't it? Now that their lives would go on as they had before, it seemed like there would be enough time for everything. But as they had learned today, it had a strange way of creeping up on you. 

"I gotta tell you, Sammy," Dean admitted, "I wasn't sure what you were gonna do." 

There it was, the raw honesty that had so often been missing in their relationship over the years. They were closer than most brothers, but had also been guarded and secretive with each other at times. That was no way to run a railroad, no way to be with the single most important person in your life, Dean had decided. 

Sam had apparently decided the same thing, as he softly replied, "For a while there, neither was I." 

That seemed to be enough for now. They exchanged smiles and drank their beers in companionable silence. 

Castiel was startled by what Gail had said. 

"Mine?" he said. 

"Tick tock," Gail nodded, indicating her arm. 

"My life was...unremarkable," he stammered. 

"Be that as it may, I still want to see it," Gail persisted. 

So off they went, to a place and a time that was hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago. 

A small boy, an only child, sat in his room, reading the only book his family could afford to get him. He had read this same book over and over again until the binding was falling off and the pages were in tatters. Yet every time he picked it up he'd felt the excitement of a new discovery about to be made. 

Fast-forward to the same boy as a young man, walking amongst the townspeople. He knew no one and no one seemed to know him. He walked among them as if invisible. To them, he probably was. But he had an agile and curious mind, observing everyone going about their daily business. If he worked hard and saved some money, perhaps he would one day be able to travel beyond his village and see other cultures and ways of living. This hope that he had sustained him through the dark times, when his mother had died and left him to raise himself. He had no other family and no friends, living a hand-to-mouth existence, reading whatever he could get his hands on by the light of a single candle. 

And then one day he died alone in his bed, another victim of the disease that had run rampant in the village. Young, lonely, dreams unfulfilled. It would be days until his body was discovered. 

"There you have it," Castiel said softly to Gail. "That was my life. It was a shame to waste your remaining time here." 

"You're quite right," she replied, "so let's go back further. To your original life." 

Castiel looked at her, floored. "But - How could you possibly know - " 

"I had a hunch, and now you've confirmed it for me," she replied. She gave him a small smile. "I used to wonder if every life had a purpose. Then I got to thinking: Why would you have been given the incredible gifts that you gave us today? Was that your reward for having been taken from this earth too soon?" 

"Yes, it was, and as you can see, I wasted my life," Castiel replied, gesturing back to the house they'd just left. "Just like I've messed up everything else. I don't know why God keeps giving me chances to get it right." He hung his head. 

She was sad at that, but a little angry also. "You're being much too hard on yourself," she told him. "I wish you could see what I see. What Dean and Sam see. What God sees." 

He looked up sharply at that. 

"This was my second chance," he said, frustrated that she didn't seem to understand. "And I did nothing with the gift." 

"What opportunity did you have to do something with it?" Gail said, her frustration rising also, but on his behalf. "No emotional support, no money to travel...What kind of crappy 'second chance' was this supposed to be, anyway?" 

She was bordering on blasphemy but he could see her point. 

"I don't know what the purpose was in placing you here in these bleak surroundings, but I do know one thing," Gail continued. "This existence you have, right now, that's your real second chance. And I think you've done a pretty good job of getting it right." 

Silence. He didn't know what to say. 

"But you're keeping something from me," Gail went on. "I still have a couple of minutes left. I want to see your true first life, the life that made you who you are." He looked at her. "I want to see the life that made you an Angel." 

Sighing, he said, "Take my hand, then. We'll need extra juice to travel back that far." He smiled sadly. 

They reappeared in a forest clearing. There was a man standing there, dressed in a tunic and carrying a crook in one hand. A flock of sheep grazed around him. 

Gail looked at Castiel, puzzled. He sighed again, then waved his hand over the man's face, revealing the face of Castiel's current vessel. "Makes it easier," he told her wryly. 

Suddenly, another man approached the shepherd from behind and after another wave of Castiel's hand, the second man had Crowley's face. Gail gasped. 

The man behind the shepherd picked up a rock, considered it for a moment, then dropped it. 

"Brother?" the shepherd asked, but did not turn around. 

The second man seemed to wince for a second, but continued to advance. "Why did you have to give Him your best?" he asked the shepherd. "Your best made mine look like..." he trailed off as the shepherd finally turned around to look at him. 

"Why should I not have given my best?" the shepherd said softly. "What is the point of giving otherwise? Should it not be up to our Lord to decide which he likes best?" He was a gentle man, but a human, and he couldn't resist a little pride in how his gift was received. 

This enraged his brother, who pulled a roughly-hewn knife out of his tunic and advanced on his sibling, stabbing him with it, again and again. 

Then Cain/Crowley stood back, breathing heavily and looking at the blood on his hands. What had he done? 

As Abel/Castiel lay on the ground, bleeding to death from his wounds, Gail rushed forward. She dropped to her knees and placed her hands on his wounds, needing to heal him. 

Then she looked up at Cain/Crowley. "This isn't what you have to become," she said to him, pleading. He backed away, horrified. Though whether it was by his action or by what she'd said was impossible to say. Then he fled. 

Gail turned back to Abel/Castiel, continuing her efforts, but he smiled, hitched a breath, and died. 

"Nice try," a Voice came from above, "but the rules are the rules." Then a chuckle. "Castiel, you have chosen well." 

Castiel came forward then and raised Gail to her feet. For a moment she experienced the surrealism of standing over his dead body as a live Castiel took her hand. 

"Time's up," he said to her. But in a kind voice, and his blue eyes were shining.


	10. Epilogue: What If God Was One Of Us

Back in the bunker, Sam and Dean were on their second beers. Happy to be back together and feeling renewed, the brothers were talking about their days' experiences. Not much was left out or implied; they knew each other too well and the new spirit of full disclosure had seemed to stick. At least, for now. 

Dean was describing in great and loving detail the burnouts and victory lap at the Daytona 500 when Castiel and Gail entered the bunker. 

The brothers stopped talking immediately and looked at the pair. 

Gail was very happy to see them again but a little shell-shocked at the scene she had just witnessed, so she merely smiled and sat down at the table. 

Castiel was also silent. The part of him that was human was shaken from reliving his murder at his brother's hands and by Gail's reaction to it. The fact that she had rushed to heal him, though she had to recall that history could not be altered by her actions, had touched him deeply. He had trusted her with the complete truth about his past human incarnations, something he had never shared with anyone, not even the Winchesters, and this trust had been rewarded. 

Unnerved by the silence, Dean said, "Well?", bringing Gail out of her reverie. 

But Cas was the one to speak first. "Sorry, Dean, we've just come back from a long trip." He and Gail exchanged smiles. 

Dean sighed. Damn Cas. He looked at Gail, raising an eyebrow, but she was sitting back now, letting Cas take the lead. It was his story; it wasn't for her to divulge. 

"Will somebody please say something?" Sam broke in. 

Cas looked at the two brothers and decided it was time. They were the closest to family he had ever had and now that Gail knew the truth, Dean and Sam were deserving of the full story as well. 

So Cas opened up to them, telling them everything. When he was done, it felt like a giant weight had been lifted from his chest, one he'd carried for far too long. 

"I'll take that beer now," he quipped. 

Sam and Dean were shocked by Castiel's tale but never doubted it for a minute. In a way, it explained a lot. 

But...Crowley was Cain? 

The brothers had a lot of questions, but as if by tacit agreement they decided to go easy on Cas. He'd given them each an amazing gift today and they could tell it had taken a lot out of him to tell his story. They'd never seen him so open and vulnerable, not since he'd been human, and the brothers appreciated his trust in them. 

So Dean walked to the fridge and got Cas that beer. Bringing it back to the table, he asked Gail, "And for you?" 

"I don't suppose you have any wine?" she shot back. 

"No, but maybe Cas can fix you up," Dean retorted. "Isn't that one of the things you guys can do?" 

Castiel shook his head, smiling, as Sam and Gail laughed. 

"Never mind, smartass," Gail replied, still laughing. 

Dean sat back down and looked at Cas again, turning serious. 

"Sorry, Cas, but I've gotta understand this," he said. "If Crowley was Cain, who was the guy I got the Mark from?" 

"I can only guess," Cas replied. "Crowley must have set you up. I think he transferred the Mark from his own arm to a Demon posing as Cain. Likely his assistant John. When you received the Mark from John, you were really receiving - my brother - Crowley's original Mark, the one that God branded him with after he'd killed me." Castiel had stammered when he reached the part about Crowley having been his brother; it was still very difficult to say this out loud. 

The theory Cas had put forward made a certain amount of sense to Sam. Crowley had always been a duplicitous little bastard. It would be just like him to feign innocence as Dean received the Mark from the being he thought was Cain, then sit back and watch all the fireworks. Crowley liked his little games. 

But Sam was puzzled by one thing: "Why didn't you tell us, Cas? Why didn't you tell us that it was Crowley who was actually Cain?" 

Dean was also very interested in Castiel's answer. He now understood why Crowley had been the only one who knew how to remove the Mark from another being. Crowley had grabbed Dean's arm just before Cas killed him, reclaiming the Mark. But Dean felt betrayed. Why the hell had Cas never told him this before? 

He asked Cas this question now and Cas replied, "I'm sorry, Dean. I truly am. But my Father forbade me from telling anyone." He hung his head as he said this, looking so forlorn that Dean relented. 

"OK, I get it," he said. "You don't want to piss off the Boss." 

Cas looked up then and, despite himself, smiled. He was relieved Dean had forgiven him. It had been the hardest secret he'd ever had to keep, and to have kept it from Dean had nearly killed him. 

Suddenly, as if on cue, both Castiel and Gail put a hand to their foreheads, wincing. 

"What is it" Sam asked. "What's wrong?" 

But they didn't hear him. The Voice had been loud, nearly head-splitting. "Come to Me. Now." 

Gail looked at Cas, wide-eyed. "What was that?" 

"Angel Radio," he replied, grimacing. Cas turned to Sam and Dean. "We have to go. Now. We'll return when we can." He swallowed hard. "IF we can." 

Before the brothers had a chance to ask him what he meant by that, Castiel had grabbed Gail's hand and they were gone. 

Castiel and Gail reappeared in Heaven, standing at a reception desk. Gail looked around, amazed. So this was Heaven. Funny, it didn't look any different than any other reception area she'd ever been in. Fancier, maybe. 

They were told to wait a moment. The receptionist gestured to the chairs across from the desk, but Castiel was too nervous to sit. "This is unprecedented," he whispered to Gail. As if it mattered. God had sent for them and he knew All, Gail thought. Castiel would know this, of course, but in his agitated state, his human traits were emerging. It was kind of cute, really. 

But his nervousness was contagious, and Gail's stomach started to flutter. The message had been stern and to the point and here she was, about to be brought before God Himself. 

"Castiel, I'm scared," she whispered back. If it weren't so intimidating, the scene would have been quite funny. Here they were, whispering like schoolchildren about to be called into the principal's office. "What should I do? How should I act?" she asked him frantically. 

But before he had the chance to even think of an answer, the office doors opened. "Come," said the Voice. 

Sam and Dean were into their third beers now. They speculated about what Cas and Gail's sudden departure could mean. 

Sam remarked, "You know what? I just thought of something." 

Dean raised his eyebrows. 

"We never did get Gail's decision," Sam continued. 

Dean's heart sank. "Maybe we did. They were both tuned in to Angel Radio." 

As the implications of this set in, the brothers sat back, thinking. 

Dean finally broke the silence. "Well..." his voice was casual, "I guess now, we wait." 

Castiel and Gail walked into the office. She trailed behind him, shaking with apprehension. 

"Come in, " God said. "Have a seat." 

Gail ventured a look. A man stood behind the desk, gesturing to the chairs in front of it. 

As they took their seats, God sat back down behind the desk. Seeing the look on Gail's face, He chuckled. 

"Relax, my Daughter," He said to her in a reassuring tone. But how could she? Was she actually sitting across a desk from God? Surreal didn't even begin to cover it. She had expected something different somehow. A ball of light so bright her eyes couldn't take it? A burning bush? But he appeared to her in human form, and he even had a nice smile. 

"I've appeared to you in human form," he said to her, mirroring her thoughts. As a new Angel, you wouldn't be able to look at me in my true form. It takes years of service for that." 

God looked at Castiel then, whose expression was unreadable. "Speaking of which..." God said to him. 

Castiel sat up straighter. "Yes, Father?" 

"I believe there are a couple of matters we need to discuss." God's voice was gentle, but was there an edge to it as well? Or was Castiel imagining it? 

They sat quietly for a moment, then God continued. "First, there's the not-so-little matter of your decision, Gail," He said. Her stomach fluttered again. God knew her name, was addressing her personally! It was exciting, but scary, too. She couldn't shake the feeling that she, that they, were in trouble. 

"That's my fault," Castiel said quietly. Gail's heart went out to him. 

Unbelievably, God sighed. "I know, my Son." He sounded annoyed but resigned. "Took a little trip off the path, didn't you?" 

Was it Gail's imagination, or was there a touch of amusement in there as well? She risked another peek at God's face, but his human visage revealed nothing. 

"I'm sorry, Father," Castiel said. "I have no excuse." 

Gathering up all the nerve she had, Gail spoke up. "I'm the excuse," she said. God gave her an inquisitive look and she hastily added, "Respectfully." 

"I understand you're new here, Gail, so I'll make allowances," God told her. "What is your decision?" 

This was it. Did she have the courage? "I'd like to remain an Angel, and..." she trailed off, losing her nerve. Was she really supposed to give God her ideal scenario here? 

"And what?" He prompted. 

Gail looked to Castiel for support and he nodded. So encouraged, she blurted out, "And be assigned to Earth in the same capacity as Castiel, helping Sam and Dean. Helping humans." 

There. It was out. Let Him smite me if He wants, Gail thought to herself. Gold looked at her sharply and she berated herself. He's God, He can read all your thoughts, shut up already before you get yourself in bigger trouble! 

Then, mercifully, He smiled. 

"I have a couple of questions for you first," God replied. 

"Sure, anything." 

"Why did you choose to review my Son Cain's life as Fergus MacLeod?" He asked her. 

It was hard to explain, exactly. She stammered, "I - I just wanted to see what kind of life he could have had to - cause him to make the choices he made." 

Silence. Then God asked, "And why did you say what you did to him in the Garden?" 

This was an even harder question. Gail wasn't exactly sure herself, she'd just blurted it out. "I don't know, exactly," she admitted. 

He leaned back in His chair, scrutinizing her. Gail could feel Castiel's gaze on her as well but Gail didn't want to look at him. She'd likely broken every rule there was in doing what she'd done in the Garden and she didn't want Castiel to suffer any repercussions by association. 

Silence. Then God leaned forward and said, "I accept your decision. It is done." 

Gail was glad, relieved actually, but then God turned to Castiel and said, "And as for you, my Son..." Her heart sank. 

Castiel said, "I'm ready to accept your punishment, my Lord." 

No! Gail thought. 

"No?" God looked at both of them sharply. Crap, I've got to stop doing that, Gail thought. But she was so panicked at the idea of Castiel being punished that she couldn't help it. It was all her fault. 

"Be that as it may," God said, as if she'd spoken aloud, turning back to Castiel, "I forbade you to ever speak of the events in the Garden." 

"I know," Castiel replied, then summoned up his courage and continued, "but I felt I owed my - family - an explanation." He'd stammered it out, but it felt good to say. 

God sat back. "So...you consider Sam and Dean Winchester your family?" 

Castiel lifted his head proudly. "Yes, I do," he said. He'd gone this far; might as well emulate Dean and go "all in". 

"So that is your decision, then?" God asked Castiel. 

"Yes, it is," Castiel replied firmly. Then, as Gail had done, he added, "Respectfully." 

God looked from Castiel to Gail, then back again, a smile playing on his lips. 

"Then so it shall be," He said. "You both will return to Earth and carry on My work." 

Gail looked at Castiel then and their faces broke into simultaneous grins. 

"Thank you, Father!" Castiel said, and Gail added, "Yes, thank you." 

They started to rise, but God held up His hand. "Just...one more thing." They sank back down in their chairs, apprehensive. 

There was a knock on the door, and God said, "That must be the Prophet now. Come in," He called. 

A man entered the room who Gail didn't recognize, but she heard Castiel gasp. As he approached the desk, the man extended a sheaf of papers in one hand. 

"I've finished the next installment of the Winchester prophecies!" Chuck said excitedly. "I knew You'd want to read them right away, my Lord." 

God stared at Chuck but did not take the papers that were being extended to him. "Give them to Castiel," He instructed. "Then leave here." 

Chuck looked at Castiel fearfully, then glanced at Gail curiously. Castiel rose and Chuck handed him the manuscript; reluctantly, it appeared to Gail. Then, after one more glare in Castiel's direction, Chuck bowed to God and left the office. 

"I never liked that guy," God said. 

Gail laughed aloud, then covered her mouth quickly with her hand. 

"It's all right, my Daughter," God said gently. I always thought that laughter was one of my better creations. If there was more of it on Earth, perhaps there would be less hatred." 

He looked at Castiel then. "You have shown yourself to be worthy of my limitless affection. And patience." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You are truly a unique individual, Castiel. There is something to this idea of 'free will', I think." He mused. "With some limitations, of course." 

Castiel was happy to receive his Father's approval, and Gail was glad for him. After all he'd been through, it was gratifying to hear him praised that way. 

"So, in the spirit of free will," God continued, "I am giving you this choice: You can either take the Prophet's manuscript to Earth and share it with the Winchesters-" He inclined his head-" and Gail, of course. They foretell all of your futures." Castiel looked startled at this. God continued, "Or..." An ashtray and a package of matches suddenly appeared on the desk before Castiel. 

"Your choice, my Son," God said. 

Castiel looked at the sheaf of papers in his hand. Did this really mean what he thought it meant? Owing to his Angel on High status, Castiel had always known things, perhaps more than he had the right or the desire to know. Many would give a great deal to have this ability, but he'd often found it burdensome and, especially in light of recent events, heartbreaking. When Castiel had been given the knowledge that Dean, Sam and Gail were going to die, he had wished the ability away. Now here he was, holding their futures in his hand. Did he want to read it? 

He looked at Gail. She raised an eyebrow to him as if to say, Your choice. But Castiel instinctively knew what she was thinking. Hadn't she felt the same way about her own powers many times? And she was right. 

He tossed the manuscript on top of the ashtray and struck one of the matches, setting it on top of the pile of papers. Watching it burn. 

"I never liked that guy, either," Castiel muttered, and his Father laughed. 

Castiel and Gail reappeared in the bunker just as Sam and Dean were considering giving up their vigil and calling it a night. They stood, and Gail ran to each of the brothers and wrapped her arms around them in turn. Then she stepped back and told them, "I decided to remain an Angel." 

Their faces fell, so she hastily added, "But I get to stay here on Earth, just like Cas. And...I'd like to help you guys, like he does. If you want." 

Sam's face broke into a grin. "Hopefully you'll do a better job than he does." 

"Yeah, try giving us a straight answer once in a while," Dean chimed in, but he was grinning too. 

Cas looked at them both, startled, then realized the brothers were teasing. Just like family would do. 

His heart swelled, and he stepped forward to hug Sam, then Dean. 

"You can stay here with us if you want," Sam said to Gail, but she exchanged looks with Castiel. 

"I appreciate the offer," Gail said to Sam, "but I think - " Castiel took her hand - "we'll be making other arrangements." 

Dean smiled and lifted an eyebrow. "Really, Cas?" he teased. 

Once again, Castiel found himself thankful that Angels didn't blush. "No, it's nothing like that, Dean," he said earnestly. "It's just that - as a new Angel, Gail will need a lot of guidance, and - I'll be spending a lot of time teaching her. When we're not here, of course," he finished quickly. 

Guidance? Teaching? Dean thought. Cas was killing him. But it was late, and Dean decided to let him off easy. For now. 

As if reading Dean's thoughts, Gail said, "But it's late. We'll let you guys get some sleep." She stepped forward and gave each brother a kiss on the cheek, smiling. "Apparently, I don't sleep any more. That'll take some getting used to, let me tell you. Better have some coffee ready in the morning, just in case." Then she thought about what she'd said. Could she still drink coffee? She'd have to ask Castiel; one of the many things she'd have to ask Castiel. 

She walked back to where Castiel stood, patiently waiting as always. He took both of her hands in his. "Can I have a moment?" he asked her. 

She looked at all three men affectionately. "Sure," she said with a smile, then ascended the steps of the bunker and with one last look, went out the door. 

Cas looked at the brothers. "Lesson one: we don't need to use doors," he deadpanned, and Sam and Dean cracked up. 

"I wanted to tell you something." Castiel's voice turned serious. "I can no longer see into the future." The brothers exchanged glances. "I'm still at full Angel status, but...I elected to let that go. I think it's the right decision, but I've thought that before. It just - seemed like the way to go." 

He turned to leave, then turned back. "I just want you both to know," he cleared his throat, determined to say what he needed to say. "I just want both of you to know that I consider you my brothers. And that makes me glad." 

Sam and Dean smiled at him, touched. 

"Oh, and Dean," Castiel added, "I wanted YOU to know that Gail and I were given an additional gift." Dean looked at him inquisitively. "One day a year, every year, we get to be human. To experience everything that humans do." He smiled. "Everything," he repeated. 

Then he turned and left the bunker without another word. Way to go, Cas, Dean thought, smiling. Way to go. 

Rowena was standing in a graveyard on a remote Scottish hillside. What was she doing here? Was she really considering this? 

Yes, she was. She sighed. She had tried to go it alone but she needed a foil, a partner in crime. Life was too boring, too easy when you had all the power in the world but no one to share it with. Was it possible that after all these years she actually did feel love? 

She looked down at the tombstone thoughtfully, then waved her arms and opened Fergus MacLeod's grave. 

\- END OF BOOK 1. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments and/or reviews are most welcome. Please feel free to drop me a message - even a simple thumbs up.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've enjoyed what you've read, please leave me a comment and/or review. No matter how small, each one is very much appreciated.


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